The Witness
by margie311
Summary: When left to her own devices, Andy finds herself in trouble again.
1. Prologue

** A/N: If this throws an update to everyone, I apologize. I'm trying something out. This section is the same as before.**

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><p>Abby McAllister waved to her neighbor as she drove down the road and then pulled the black SUV into her driveway. The woman was digging in her garden, her two children playing around the corner of the house. Abby looked away and opened the garage door with a remote, scanning the interior before she pulled the vehicle in, keeping her eyes on the rearview mirror as the door descended behind her. She got out of the car, put her purse over her shoulder and closed the door. She opened the hatch and her two year-old German Shepherd mix bounded out, staying close to her side as she reached in, pulling out a covered box of fruit and vegetables from the farmers' market.<p>

The dog, Brody, walked up the steps ahead of her, stopping at the door separating the inside of her house from her garage and looking up at her. She unlocked the deadbolts and then let the dog in and he wandered purposefully from room to room. She toed her shoes off on the mat next to a pair of running shoes, a pair of hiking boots and a pair of black steel-toed boots with thick rubber soles and relocked both deadbolts, and reset the alarm. She went into the kitchen, tossed her purse and the box onto the counter, and unpacked the food. Once empty, the box went next to the door for her next trip out to the garage. As she washed an apple, she looked out the window at the woods standing behind the house. The wind rustled the leaves on the trees outside, and the sun was shining through the branches on its way to meet the horizon. It had been a beautiful day.

Abby bit into the apple, feeling juice run down the side of her chin. She used the back of the hand holding the apple to wipe it away and then reached over and closed the blinds, shutting out the light. She walked out of the kitchen and through the dark house quietly, feet silent on the hardwood flooring of the dining and living rooms. Brody met her in the hallway and she murmured a soft, "good boy," as she held her hand out and he nuzzled it. She bent down and gave him a rough rub to his side, her fingers sliding in and out of his thick coat and then walked down the hallway, her feet sinking into the plush carpeting. She made her way to the bedroom and when she got there, stripped the clothing from her body and wrapped a towel around herself for the short walk to the bathroom.

Out of habit, she closed the door and then hung up the towel on the rod. She stepped into the shower, letting the hot water beat all the days grime from her body and face and after quickly soaping up and rinsing, turned the water off. Squeezing it from her shoulder-length hair, she stepped out.

She wrapped herself back up in the same towel. She walked up to the vanity and reached out, doing the same thing she did every day. With her hand, she made a small clearing in the condensation. As she looked in the wet mirror, Andy McNally stared back out at her. Because the circle framed her face, she could pretend that her hair was still long, pretend her face didn't look as drawn and tight as she knew it did. The girl in the mirror had lived a very different life. Little beads of water were beginning to run down the mirror, making trails in the fog. Holding in a sigh, she picked up a hand towel and wiped it away, and Abby McAllister reappeared. Turning away from the reflection, she walked out of the bathroom. Brody was lying in the hall and his eyes followed her as she walked around the corner and back into the bedroom to dress, kicking the door shut behind her.


	2. Chapter 1

**If this throws an update when I edit, I apologize!**

**Be Warned: The timing of these first few chapters might be a little confusing. After that, it'll smooth out a little, but here's the run down.**

**The beginning of this chapter takes place approximately seven months before the Prologue.**

**At the end of 2.10, Sam did NOT go undercover early. He was given those three weeks, and so Andy's call made it through. Also, his UC assignment is NOT with Jamie Brennan. I thought the show's writers did an excellent job with that, and don't want to mess with perfection. The UC he's on is all me. And I'm not a criminal mastermind.**

**So, again, we're starting three weeks after the end of 2.10, seven months before the prologue :) (And I have no idea what month it's supposed to be, I only know it's cold, so I guessed.)**

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><p><strong>November 1<strong>

_Andy walked up the steps and used her fist to bang on the door. She had to do it twice. Finally, somewhere inside, a light flickered on and the door was wrenched open and her breath caught in her throat. Sam stood there, a brown towel clutched around his waist, hair still wet and he looked at her._

"_What is it, McNally? I'm kind of in the middle of something."_

"_I ah…did you not get my message?" She peered at him, suspicious._

_He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "I'm guessing I was in the shower. Come on in; I'll get some clothes on." He waved her forward._

_Please don't, Andy thought as she followed him into the kitchen. The skin on his back was still damp; the muscle shined a little in the light and Andy sunk into one of the chairs next to the table._

_He turned around. "Just give me two minutes." She nodded and he left the room. She'd been expecting him to have heard the message. To be waiting for her. But apparently, she was going to have to do this all from scratch._

_Sam entered his room and grabbed his phone off the table by the window. Quickly he dialed into his voicemail and stood there, clicking through three messages until he got to Andy's._

_**"Look, you have three weeks, right? So let's make 'em count. I'm coming over."**_

_At the last sentence, he felt his heart pick up, just a little. And then he hit the buttons to replay the message and walked out of the room. He held the phone up to his ear and went towards the kitchen. Andy's back was to him. She'd shucked her coat, leaving it on the back of the chair, and had her head in the refrigerator. He leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed one ankle over the other as he listened to the message again, his eyes on her._

_She straightened and turned around and caught sight of him, holding his phone in his hand, bringing it down from his ear. Her eyes went to it and the refrigerator door slowly swung shut and then they stood there, looking at each other._

_She held a bottle of water in her hand, and watched as Sam opened his mouth, and at first no sound came out. Then he stood up straight. "Look, Andy, I only have three weeks. I made a commitment to this case," he said slowly, quietly. "I don't know when I'll be back."_

_All of a sudden, she looked about ready to jump out of her skin. But she shook her head. "Three weeks is better than nothing." She stepped up close, close enough so that the fabric of her shirt brushed against the skin of his stomach. "And we can worry about the rest later." Still he didn't move. He wasn't convinced that he could wait for later if he allowed himself this. Andy bent down, put the bottle of water on the floor and then straightened again, her eyes never leaving his. And then she put her hands, cold from the bottle against his chest, and slid one up his neck to pull his mouth down to hers._

_Sam let out a groan at the first touch of her lips, and instantly abandoned all control. He held her face, keeping it in place as he slanted his open mouth across hers. This girl, one touch from her and he was lost. Every time. Her tongue entered his mouth, slowly at first, and then as Sam turned her around and backed her against the wall, she thrust it against his. Her hands moved down his body to the towel rolled around his waist and she gripped it behind his back, pullig him hard against her._

_He reached between them and tugged at her shirt, finally tugging it over her head, leaving her hair in disarray. But then her arms came down over his shoulders and he held her hard against him, pulling her up so her toes barely touched the ground. As he set her back down, her fingers went to the button on her pants and in seconds she was stepping out of a pile of denim. As they leaned together, chest to thigh, Sam sucked in a breath at the heat of her. The warmth of her skin was shocking against his chilled damp flesh and he flattened his hands against her back, holding her body tightly pressed to his._

_As she pulled her head back, taking a breath, she realized they were both panting, eyes wild and frantic. And then Sam slid his hand into her hair, grabbing a good handful as he pulled her lips back to his._

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><p>Andy opened her eyes as her alarm went off for the fourth time. She reached out and flicked the switch, shutting it off and then reached behind her and patted Sam's hip.<p>

"Hey, we're going to be late." She yawned as she sat up. He mumbled something unintelligible and buried deeper into the blankets. In the few weeks they'd been seeing each other, Andy had learned a lot about her former training officer. Including the fact that if he was wrapped up in a warm bed, with a warm body next to him, it took an act of God to get him up and out the door. Reaching out, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her back down. He pulled her underneath him and pressed his face against her neck. His hands stilled and she whispered in his ear. "We really need to get up."

"No, we really don't," he said against her skin. Her arms crept around him and he exhaled, breath blowing over her skin.

"If I'm late again this week, Best is going to put me on desk duty indefinitely."

"Last time it worked out pretty well for us," he said, and she felt his lips curve against her skin. Both their minds went back to earlier in the week when they'd shown up half an hour late and had been sequestered in opposite ends of the station for the day. But it was all the excuse they needed to take lunch at Sam's. All the excuse they needed to show up late again afterwards. "Besides, if there is any day to stay in bed, it's today." She looked down at his shoulder, running her eyes down his back to where he disappeared under the covers.

Her hands moved over the muscle of his back and down to his butt, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Really. It's time," she said quietly. He lifted his head and his eyes were dark with sleep, and with something else.

She slid out of his arms, despite his protesting groan; reached down and flipped the covers off, smiling a little when he turned over and looked at her. With sleep still softening his features, he looked youthful, boyish. She might even use the word "innocent" if she didn't remember the very _not_ innocent things he had been whispering in her ear and doing to her body the night before.

"How much time have we got?" he asked, letting his head fall back to the pillow.

She glanced at the clock. "Maybe forty-five minutes before parade starts."

"Shit," Sam mumbled as he rubbed a hand over his face. "I'll make coffee. I'll meet you in the shower."

Andy gave him a look. "We're not doing that this morning. We were late on Monday because of that."

"I'm just trying to save a little time, McNally. Go." He waved her out the door as he pushed himself off the bed with a grin.

"I'm sure," she smirked as she walked across the hall.

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><p>Back in the bedroom, after they were both clean, Sam held out his hand and Andy tossed him his jeans. "Go over it with me one more time," she said, her face serious.<p>

He paused, hand on his towel, and looked at her. "We've already been over it five times."

She exhaled and closed her eyes, then after a second, raised them to his. "Just tell me again."

He watched her as she turned back to the dresser and started pulling out her clothing. And then he nodded. "Okay." He took a deep breath as he pulled the towel from around his waist and scrubbed it over his skin before he put on his jeans. "Malcolm Bishop used to be a big player in Toronto. He sold everything, drugs, guns, girls, you name it. He used to use kids to pedal his dope. One of them got a little twitchy, decided he was out. And two days later, they found him executed in a parking lot. Someone shot him while he was riding his bike home." She nodded, buttoning a shirt up over her bra. "After that, the cops found two more kids, executed the same way. They were actually trying to build a case against him for trafficking, so this would've only helped, but they didn't have any proof. Different guns, different parts of town. It just didn't fall together right. Hey." She looked at him and he held out his hand again. She looked around, and found his shirt peeking out from under the bed and threw it at him.

He caught it and put his arms through it and pulled it down over his head. "Anyway, he started getting nervous and he blew town before they could get enough to arrest him for any of it. No one has any idea where this guy is hiding out. He probably has houses in a few places; probably outside of the country. But every couple of years, he comes back to town, just for a few days. He makes a big deal, drops a huge amount of contraband on the city and takes off again."

"And he's coming back," she said looking in the mirror at him, combing her fingers through her hair before she started to quickly braid it.

Sam nodded. "The informant said that there's been talk. They know he's coming back, but they don't know exactly when, and they don't know why."

"So they don't know what the deal is, or with who?" she asked.

"I've already told you all this," he said as he walked up behind her and as her hands stilled, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss against the back of one.

Andy smiled and continued with her hair. "I know. So your job is?"

He took a step back, sat down on the bed and started putting on his shoes. "Get in, find out what the product is, find out who the partner is, when and where the deal is, and get out."

"When you say it like that, it doesn't sound so bad." She wrapped the end with an elastic and snagged a tube of lip balm off the dresser.

He looked at her. "It's not an easy thing, living someone else's life, getting people to trust you. Being gone for so long," he said quietly

"I know. But it's only three months, right?" Her voice was steady, but her eyes were on the tube in her hand, out the window, over his shoulder. Everywhere but on his.

He stretched out an arm and put his fingers in her pocket and towed her over, until she was standing between his knees. He nodded. "Yeah, Boyd wanted me for six, but I talked him down," he reminded gently. Her hands came down on his shoulders, flexed her fingers along the breadth. "We can do three months, McNally." His voice was quiet and reassuring, but he didn't think he was fooling her. He certainly wasn't fooling himself. Three months was a long time.

Andy nodded. "We can do three months."

"And then I'll be done with this. I promise. No more long under cover assignments." Her hands slid up his neck and held his face as she leaned down to leave a kiss on his mouth. She straightened and Sam leaned forward, pressing his face against her stomach. "We were supposed to have more time to say goodbye this morning," he murmured against her shirt.

She smiled to herself. "The shower was good. Short, but memorable. And we said goodbye three times yesterday. And twice the day before that." Her fingers slid through his hair, holding him against her. His hands were hot against her back, through her shirt and as he exhaled against her stomach, she closed her eyes. "It's only three months," she repeated. "We'll be okay."

He nodded and pulled away. Andy stepped back and grabbed his jacket off the chair by the window. She passed it to him and he tucked it under his arm as he followed her out of the room.

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><p>They were quiet in the truck on the way to the Division. Sam tangled his fingers with Andy's glancing over at her as she stared out the window. He brought her hand up and pressed his lips to it, smiling at her as she finally looked over, expression sad.<p>

"It's only three months," he said again. It was starting to become their mantra. They'd repeated it over and over again throughout the course of the last week. But instead of making it easier, sometimes, it just made it seem longer. Today was one of those days. She pulled his hand into her lap; let it settle against the top of her thigh, fingers squeezing along the inside. "And I'll call."

Her eyes went to his. "On Sundays. At midnight." He nodded. That was the deal they made. They'd considered email, but it was too slow. There was no way of knowing when Sam would have access to a computer. Texting wasn't enough. But a weekly phone call would be safe enough. As long as they kept it short, as long as they were careful. Of course, it wasn't a foolproof plan. Sometimes Andy worked nights, sometimes she worked weekends. And Sam still didn't have any idea what he'd be doing, but it at least _was_ a plan. And having a plan made Andy feel like she had some control over this situation.

She'd known that this would be hard, but three weeks ago, when she'd shown up at his house, she hadn't expected it to be _this_ hard. Three weeks into a relationship, people should still be in that place where they're untouchable, where they still see only the good things, puppy love. But three weeks into this relationship, with over year of history behind it, over a year of built up, denied feelings, Andy found herself falling hard. And she knew Sam felt the same.

She glanced over at him as they pulled up to a red light. He looked back at her and tried to smile, but he couldn't force the muscles to cooperate. Andy glanced at the intersection quickly and then unbuckled her belt and in an instant was leaning across the console to press her mouth to his. His arms came up around her and as his lips moved frantically over hers, she let out a sniffly sigh; almost a sad laugh. His hands were in her hair, tugging at the braid she'd so carefully plaited that morning. A horn honked behind them, and they pulled away. Andy slid back into her seat with a shaky smile and Sam hit the gas, driving on. A few minutes later, he pulled the truck into the parking lot and threw it into park and then he turned to her again.

"You have your keys?"

Andy nodded and pulled out the ring. On it were copies of the keys to his house and his truck. They'd been spending a lot of time at her new apartment, but last week, he'd gone out and made her a set of his. Just in case.

"Only in emergencies, okay? I've already called everyone. Cable and electric get turned off at the end of the week. I'm not letting the insurance on the truck lapse, so you should be good there. But if you use it, be careful," Sam warned, raising his eyebrows at her. He checked the clock. She was already ten minutes late. "You've got to go. I'm going back to my place, to check everything over one more time, and someone should be by to pick me up."

She nodded. "You said that if you could get away..."

"Yeah. If I think I can take a few hours, get away for a while, I'll contact you. It won't be for very long," he warned.

"I don't care. Even five minutes would be better than nothing." She exhaled, and despite her best efforts to control it, the breath came out sounding like a sob. "It would have been nice to spend Christmas together," she said with a shrug. Sam pulled her in one last time; inhaled as his nose hit her hair, and the scent of jasmine surrounded him.

He put his mouth next to her ear as her arms tightened around him. "We can do this. Remember, it might not even last three months. I could surprise you in a few weeks."

Andy laughed quietly, bitterly against his skin, and the sound shot through him like lightning. "I'm really trying to be an adult about this, so don't get my hopes up, alright?" He closed his eyes and then nodded, holding her hard against him. "I had a dream about us this morning," she said softly. "About that first night." Andy pulled her head away, and her eyes met his, held them. "That was a great night."

He considered it. "I think we've had more than a few great nights." The smile touched his face, his voice. "And great mornings, and afternoons," he added with a small laugh. He leaned in and kissed her at the corner of her eye. "This isn't over. It's just on hold."

She nodded. "It's real though, right? These last three weeks, they were real."

Sam looked at her very seriously, and then nodded. "It's real," he said, his voice husky.

She sat there and just stared at him for a moment, burning his image even further into her brain. And then she leaned in and whispered, "Just in case I don't see you for a while," and kissed him for the last time. Her mouth was soft against his and he cupped the back of her head and deepened the kiss, groaning low in his throat. He couldn't pull away, couldn't stop touching her, holding her to him. Her arms were tight around his neck and the sound of her breath, of her sigh brought the last three weeks barreling back to him. He knew if she stayed any longer, he wouldn't be able to leave. And so he pulled away.

"You have to go. You're already late."

She licked her lips and pressed her fingers against his cheek. "I'm really gonna miss you."

Her eyes bore into his, and he felt it, felt something breaking inside of him. "I'll miss you, too. Take care of yourself," he said earnestly, running his thumbs over the wetness on her cheeks.

She nodded. "You too." Then she turned, and quickly gathered her bag and got out of the truck, slamming the door behind her. He watched as she took a few steps and then turned away, leaned his head back against the seat. For a long moment, he wondered what Boyd would do if he showed up at his house and Sam wasn't there. If he decided to just go sit down in parade like it was any other day. He turned his head, wondering what Andy would say, but all he saw was her back as she slipped in through the door to the building.

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><p><strong>November 28<strong>

Andy walked into the locker room, nodding to a few people as she passed. Her bag went on the bench and she leaned in, spinning the combination on her locker. It opened smoothly and she started changing, sweatshirt over her head, navy shirt buttoned up; jeans folded sloppily on the bench, trousers pulled up and belted. She combed her hair back and put it up into a loose messy bun and stowed her belongings. Her shoes were replaced by her duty boots, and as Traci popped her head into the room, Andy reached into her locker for one last thing.

"Andy, you almost ready?"

She turned towards her and gave her the most convincing smile she could summon up. "Yep. Be out in a second."

Traci raised her eyebrows. "You okay?"

Since Sam had gone under, she knew she'd been a little different. She tried to hide it, but she was lonely. She'd gotten used to having someone around at breakfast, at the end of the night after shift. Even the small moments were less without him. She missed the way he'd finish up the dishes before they left for work in the morning, and the way he'd open the car door for her when she wasn't expecting it. And the feel of his hand sliding through her hair, pulling it back over her shoulder when he thought she was sleeping. But her friends didn't need to hear about that. She tried to keep it to herself.

Andy nodded, and this time, the smile reached her eyes. "Yeah. I'll meet you out there." Traci turned around and left and Andy reached back into the locker. On the top shelf, she kept a book. It wasn't anything special. Just the first one she grabbed off the shelf in her apartment. She pulled it out and looking over her shoulder once, let it fall open to page 103 where she kept the picture.

It was just a snapshot. A single moment in time when she'd spontaneously snagged her camera off the dresser and fallen back into bed with Sam. They were crammed in close together as she held the camera out, pointing it back at them. He was smiling wide, eyes squeezed into tiny crescents as with her other hand, she held his face to her, pressing her lips to his cheek. The coloring was off, altered by the lighting in the room, but that didn't matter. None of the others that she'd taken that day had turned out. He'd blocked every shot with his hand and then stolen the camera from her, sliding it across the carpet under her bed. And then he'd pressed her down, deep into the mattress and she'd forgotten all about the camera until she cleaned her room last week.

She waved the picture in front of her face for a few seconds, trying to put it from her mind. That whole morning, the whole week, the whole month. It was easier if she could tuck it away. She looked at her watch. At the date on her watch. Sixty-three days left. And today was Sunday. Her teeth flashed in a smile.

The door banged open and Traci stuck her head in. "Andy!"

"Yeah." She shoved the photo back into the book and tossed it into her locker and slammed the door. She spun the combo and then turned towards Traci. "I'm coming."

Together they walked into the parade room and sat down, moments before Best took the podium. He started handing out assignments and then he said her name. He had to say it twice, because her attention was on her hands. She'd been rubbing them together, noticing how dry the skin had become during the winter. She needed to switch moisturizer.

"McNally!" Best said loudly and her head snapped up.

"Yes, sir."

"As I was saying, today, you'll be getting a new partner. Terry Simonson," he waved to the back of the room and a blonde man stepped forward. Andy's eyes scanned over him. He was of average size, unremarkable in almost every way, but he had a nice smile. A trustworthy smile, and she tried to make hers match. She'd spent a full week on desk duty as punishment for being late that day Sam left, and since then had been passed around between the senior officers, fitting in where they needed her. Until now, they hadn't settled on a permanent partner for her, but apparently, a match had been made. He nodded to her and then stepped back. "He just transferred in from 27," Best continued. "Take some time and show him how we do things around here."

Together, they walked out to the squad cars and she looked at him. "I suppose you want to drive?" She held out the keys.

He shook his head. "This is your show. I'm fine riding shotgun." His grin was infectious and she found herself smiling back. "As long as you know what you're doing."

She smirked. "Don't worry. My last partner was a good teacher. I've got it under control."

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><p>Later that night, the ringing woke her. She fumbled at the nightstand until her hand made contact and then she put the phone to her ear.<p>

"Hey," she said sleepily, not even checking the caller ID.

"You're asleep," his voice teased and the sound of his low laugh warmed her through and through. "I'm a little insulted."

"No, I'm awake." To prove it to herself, she sat up in the dark, gathering the duvet around her. "What's up?" she asked, yawning.

Sam glanced up and down the empty street, brushing at the snow falling on his head. "I was just lying in bed thinking about you."

"Oh yeah?" she asked grinning. "What were you thinking?"

"About what I'm going to do to you the next time I see you." Andy felt the blood rush to her face. "About that little sound you make when you -"

"Sam!"

"What?" he laughed. "I'm standing on a street corner freezing my ass off. I have to have a little fun." He wrapped his arm around his middle, trying to keep warm.

"I thought you said you were in bed."

"That was five minutes ago. You know I can't call from my apartment." He took a deep breath. "Listen. I..." He broke off and glanced up watching the snow fall through the light cast by a street lamp; trying to collect his thoughts. "I really want to say something to you, but I want to say it in person."

"Well, where are you?" she asked quietly.

He hesitated. "I'm all the way across town."

She combed her hair back from her face. "How long would it take you to get here?" she asked haltingly. At first there came only silence and she imagined the look on his face; the struggle passing over his features as he considered his options.

"Don't ask me," he said finally, with an uncomfortable laugh.

"Don't ask you what?"

"Don't ask me to come over."

"Why not?" she asked, her voice serious as she pulled her knees up to her chest.

"Because right now, I can't think of a reason not to. But we both know I shouldn't." His voice was low, steady. But she heard the undercurrent of desperation.

"You did say that if you could get away..."

"Yeah, but I'm supposed to meet these guys in a little while."

Andy rolled her eyes and took a deep breath, smoothing her hand over the blankets. "Fine," she said quietly.

There was a tense silence and then he spoke again. He leaned back against the building, tipping his head up to the sky as he tried to resist the temptation. "Tell me about your day."

She leaned back against the headboard and put her arm around her knees. "I got a new partner today."

"Oh yeah? He any good?"

She shrugged though he couldn't see her. "Not as good as my last one," she replied with a grin. He laughed on the other end.  
>"But he's not bad. Had an exciting first day, that's for sure."<p>

"What happened?"

Andy smirked. "Got a call about a girl who stabbed her ex-boyfriend in the neck with a pocket knife outside a fast food joint."

"You're kidding," he said with a loud laugh. He saw a familiar car pull onto the street a few blocks away and turned around, walking around the corner of the building.

"I swear, I'm not."

"Did she say why?"

"I think it was something about how he disappeared for months at the time and thought she'd be satisfied with a phone call once a week," she said snidely.

"You're hilarious," he replied in a dry tone. He heard her yawn again, loudly. "You should go back to bed."

"No. Let's keep talking."

"Go to sleep, McNally. I have to go anyway," he said as he glanced over his shoulder and saw the car pull up to the curb. "I'll call you again next week." He paused and she heard him take a breath. "I miss you," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"I miss you too," she whispered back. "Two months."

"Two months." He snapped the phone closed as three guys approached and he spun around to meet them.

Her phone went back on the nightstand, and Andy pulled the duvet up over her shoulder. But it was another hour before sleep caught up with her again.

* * *

><p><strong>December 19<strong>

Sam collapsed onto the pilled flannel blanket covering his bed and took a second to scan the apartment. He'd been under cover for almost two months, but in this place only six weeks. The first week, he'd been living in a fleabag motel. Normally, Guns and Gangs would have found him a place and hooked it up for eyes and sound, but this situation was a little different. The backstory Boyd provided was that he was the cousin of Mickey Schofield, a small-time crook, drug dealer who had recently been killed in an armed robbery. In the past, he'd done a few jobs for another crew. That crew, Bishop's crew, was currently working clearing out buildings. When he was a Toronto resident, Bishop had been quite the entreprenuer, buying up properties all over town. Some he rented out, others he used for his own business ventures. Still others sat empty. Word around town was that he was selling. Everything. They were loading trucks up daily, moving equipment to auction, trashing some, sending the rest out of town. Unfortunately for them, they were now short one guy. Which is where Sam came in.

Using the alias Lee Schofield, Sam had also spent the first week in a bar, watching three guys. Two of them were similar looking; large, outweighing Sam by a good fifty pounds each. They were heavy-set with dark hair, olive skin, and were even dressed similarly in canvas jackets and jeans. The briefing he'd been given said that they were brothers, and they looked it. Neither one of them was a day above thirty. The third guy was younger, maybe in his early to mid-twenties and he was whippet thin with a skinny little mustache and goatee. He always wore a dirty orange cap turned backwards and a green army jacket that Sam guessed was pilfered from some second-hand shop. Purely through observation, Sam decided he was the weakest link.

Each night that first week, they came into the bar between nine and eleven. The two big guys, Chris and Evan Malone, always went to the same back booth, taking time to stop and chat with a few of the women they passed on the way. The skinny guy, Clay Warren, went back with them, staying only a moment and then started making the rounds. He moved from table to table, catching up with the same people he'd talked to the night before. It didn't take long for Sam to see that he was making quick exchanges right there at the tables. Glancing around, Sam wondered how much the owners of the establishment knew about it. But when Clay stopped to talk with the bartender, passing him a tiny bag of white power when he handed him his money for a drink, Sam realized that this was no new occurrence. The bartender passed Clay a huge wad of cash in addition to his change and as he stuffed it into his pocket, they stood there and talked a while.

But these deals were nothing; small potatoes. It wasn't what he was there for. When Clay climbed up onto the stool, Sam made his way over and sat down two seats away. He was actually surprised at how easy it was to get him talking. By the time they split company, Clay knew that Sam (Lee) was looking for employment, honest or otherwise and that he also needed a place to live, since he'd just gotten out of jail. After Sam stated that he wasn't looking for anything small time, he didn't want to be slinging dime bags and eight balls behind the dumpsters at the high school, for instance, Clay mentioned a possible job opening with his employer.

Sam raised his eyebrows, and told Clay that he didn't want to be dealing drugs at any bars either. The skinny guy flashed a smile and looked over his shoulder at the two big guys, and then told him that "distribution" was something he did on the side. Those two knew about it, but they never said anything, because the three of them had been friends since they were in diapers. He gave them a tiny cut to keep their mouths shut, and they pretended they had no idea. The job he was talking about was as a mover. He said everyone working the streets these days had known Mickey Schofield and he'd talk to the people who mattered to see if he could get his cousin a sit-down. And so, the next day, when the same three guys knocked on his door at the motel, he went with them back to the bar and they discussed his employment options over a few rounds of drinks.

A few days later, Sam moved his meager belongings into a poorly furnished studio. While not exactly the kind of place that required references, it was exactly the kind of place that let renters pay by the month, no lease necessary. So Sam laid down the cash for the first month and was now residing in the apartment directly next door to Clay's. The next day, while Sam was being introduced around at one of Bishop's warehouses, two guys from Guns and Gangs had come in, posing as cable company employees and had outfitted the place with cameras and mikes. He'd also discovered on his first night there, that he could hear everything going on next door through the vent in the wall separating the apartments. It wasn't exciting, but Sam spent at least a half hour a night sitting on a chair under that vent listening to Clay jabber on his phone or to his two buddies.

The job he'd been hired to do was easy enough. Every day, a team moved floor by floor in a building, packing and loading into trucks while the Malone brothers supervised. Clay, also, was clearly set apart from the rest of the crew, but it wasn't until Sam had been with them for a while that he figured out why. Ten years back or so, when Bishop had actually been a resident of Toronto, the three of them had dealt for him. Probably pedaling dope to their classmates and neighbors. And they probably didn't even know how close they came to getting a bullet in the brain, like those other three kids. But whatever had happened in the past, the three put in their time like everyone else, showing up every day; or almost every day in Clay's case. He'd missed a few the previous week.

The three of them supervised, watching the loading of the trucks, making notes about the condition of the cargo, the condition of the trucks and vans. But the guy that supervised _them_ was a tall, severe-looking blonde guy named Paul Allen. From Boyd's report, Sam knew that Allen was basically Bishop's right hand man. He was the only one who talked directly to him, took his orders directly from him. Sam hadn't had much interaction with him, but judging from the reactions of his coworkers, he was the guy with the answers he was looking for. Unfortunately, up until this point, there had been a whole lot of nothing. Which was par for the course. So far, all he'd been transporting was old furniture, battered machinery from a small factory on the edge of town, boxes of old tools, supplies. Nothing anyone would possibly want. Some went to auction, most went to the dump. No drugs. No guns. Nothing that could possibly be construed as illegal or suspicious.

The people were another story. His coworkers. At first, no one seemed to be in any sort of hurry. They worked slowly, taking breaks at will. Everyone was very relaxed. At the time, Sam was pretty sure that nothing would be happening anytime soon. But again, that had been almost two months ago. Now, they were starting to get a little antsy. Tempers were quicker and he was hearing whispers. Nothing solid yet, just talk of the boss coming to town. But no one knew when. And all of his buildings needed to be cleaned out beforehand. Sales of a few of the smaller buildings had already gone through. The warehouses were empty for the most part, but there was still some finishing up to be done. It seemed that Bishop was planning on doing his deal and then blowing town, putting the city in his rearview permanently. Destination unknown. And understandably, he wanted the money from his real estate deals to go with him. For the most part, everything was going smoothly.

There was, however, one snag. Two of Bishop's trucks had been pulled over and searched in the last week. And just this past afternoon, a pair of uniformed cops had shown up at the warehouse. They didn't stay long but, given that the majority of Bishop's staff were either ex-cons or on the express route to incarceration, they made the guys nervous. For Sam, the anxiety was worse. He'd been in the passenger seat of one of those trucks, and had been loading cargo into another one of them when the knock came at the door today. Both times, it had been officers from another division, but Bishop had property all over town and Sam feared what would happen if he turned around and found himself face to face with Diaz or Epstein. Or worse, with Andy. He wasn't sure he could trust his expression to remain neutral after two months. Not when he wanted so badly just to see her.

He folded his hands behind his head and looked over at the wall. There was a calendar hanging there, and days were crossed off. He counted in his head again, quickly. Even though he'd done the exact same thing the day before. And the day before that. If he rounded it, if every month had thirty days, and he'd been under for six and a half weeks, that meant that he had forty-four days left. Forty-four days until he could be with Andy again. Somehow, counting the days made it bearable. Forty-four days didn't seem like that long. A little over a month.

They hadn't spoken in the last couple of weeks. The deal had been one call a week; midnight on Sundays. Sam didn't want either of them to have to chase down missed calls. He'd dialed her two weeks ago, but the phone had just rung through to voicemail; Andy had probably fallen asleep. Last week, he'd worked through the night and had left the disposable cell in a small box tucked up under his mattress. And three days ago, he glanced back at the calendar to confirm, Andy had started a week of nights. She'd most likely been stuck in a patrol car.

He blew out a breath and closed his eyes, letting her image pass through his mind the way he'd done so many times. The way her hair felt under his fingers when he loosened it after they got back to his place after work. How she liked to fall asleep on the edge of the couch, leaving just enough room for him to crawl in behind her and hold her against his chest. The way she'd snuck off each weekend before he woke and returned with two donuts and two coffees and they'd sat cross-legged on the bed together and eaten breakfast. In a few days, it would be Saturday. The seventh Saturday he'd had to buy his own breakfast.

He rolled over and turned off the lamp next to him. And then more images appeared. The way her wet hair clung to her shoulders after a shower, how her hands were firm against his body, and her mouth was soft on his skin. He took a deep breath and tried to think of other things, tried to stop his body from responding to a memory. But it was no use. The more he tried not to think of her, the more he remembered. Frustrated, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed the towel hanging on the hook on the back of his door. He walked quickly to the bathroom and turned the shower on and started stripping.

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><p>He was rinsing off when he thought he heard something. A banging. He hissed as shampoo ran down into his eyes and scrubbed furiously at his face, washing it out. By the time he'd stepped out, rubbed the towel over himself and walked back into the main room with it slung around his hips, the noise had stopped. Suspicious, he sat down on the floor near the vent and pulled the notebook he kept hidden under the sofa.<p>

There were a few voices. Clay and the Malones, to be sure. He'd been listening to those voices for weeks. And another. Allen. He could only catch a word here and there. But as they passed through Clay's living room, the sound got stronger.

"He wants to see you now."

"What about Lee? He's just next door." Sam's stomach knotted.

"No. He said he just wants you. And your friends." He got up and walked to the door and pressed his eye to the peep hole. Out and past the door walked the Malones, Allen, and another guy, someone he didn't know with dark hair, and in his hand, he gripped Clay's arm, dragging him along.

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><p><strong>Later That Same Night<strong>

Andy reached over and turned the heat down. She was sweating under her uniform, under her coat. Outside, the night was frigid, cloudless. But inside, it was sweltering. She and Simonson had spent most of their time on shift busting up a bar fight downtown. It started out as a beef between two college kids, over a girl, and as their friends joined in, turned into an all-out brawl. Seven people had been arrested, and the bar had been shut down for the rest of the night. Andy glanced over. Terry was showing her pictures of his kid's school play. As adorable as a five year-old dressed as a bear was, Andy was bored. And then, she was grateful as dispatch came over the radio. A call about some kids knocking over trash cans, vandalizing an apartment building.

"This isn't a very nice neighborhood," Andy muttered, watching out the window as buildings flew by.

"What? Are you afraid, McNally?" He grinned over at her and she smiled slightly. Even after almost a month of working together, her name didn't sound quite right coming from his mouth. "Right here," Terry said and she pulled the car over. They got out. The neighborhood was relatively quiet. Surrounded by tall buildings, Andy glanced around. Across the street was a broken down store front, what used to be a comic book store. Next to it, a sketchy looking restaurant. To her left, a building that appeared abandoned; it probably hadn't been used in years. And in front of her, the apartment building. Though it was cold, some of the rooms on the upper floors had their windows cracked and Andy could hear television coming from one of them. A game show, from the sound of it.

Simonson was walking between the buildings, down the alley, peeking around the dumpsters and shining his flashlight into recessed doorways. She walked briskly towards him, catching up with him about halfway down. Then he held a finger up to his lips signaling her to be quiet and pointed to his ear and then at a couple of lit multi-paned windows at ground level in the abandoned building. One of them was busted out and Andy could hear yelling. Terry motioned for her to stay at the bank of windows and he walked around the corner. She rubbed a clean circle into the dirt coating the window. She couldn't see anything and shoved a large broken wooden crate out of the way and cleaned a spot in that window. As she bent down, she could see into the basement.

It looked like it had once been used as a work shop or something. Large wooden work benches were braced and bolted to the walls; extension cords and old tools were lying on a rusty green free-standing shelf, covered in a thick layer of dust. The area was large, divided into at least 2 rooms. The room she'd been looking into first was dark and empty. But the second one had people. Three men stood around in a small circle, and in the middle was another guy sitting in a chair. He looked young, no more than 25, with stubble coating his cheeks and a dirty orange backwards cap on his head. In fact, everything about him looked filthy. And bloody, Andy realized. His eye was swollen shut and he had a gash over his cheek bone that was still seeping blood.

She straightened and her hand reached up for her radio. But before she could press the button, she heard a shuffling noise behind her. As she turned, she saw a flash of a face and the glare of a flashlight and then as it swung down, she saw nothing at all.

Andy heard yelling. Her eyes fluttered open. It took a few seconds for her vision to clear, to see in the dim light. And then she felt the headache and the slight feeling of nausea. She was lying on her back, head on a concrete floor. Her right arm was asleep. She looked over and saw that her wrist was handcuffed to one of the supports holding up one of the long workbenches. She felt her duty belt with her other hand. Her own handcuffs. She took an inventory. No gun, no magazines, no keys, no phone, no radio, no wallet. Fuck.

She used her free arm to push herself up into a sitting position and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she looked around the room. Against the left wall was that green shelf, windows above it. There was a cinderblock wall separating this room from the other. And against the cinderblocks, Simonson was leaned up, unconscious. A torrent of blood had spilled over the side of his face and from where she sat, Andy couldn't hear him breathing. She started moving, scooting over on her butt, but her head was swimming. Bringing her fingers up, she gingerly patted her head, and the tips came away from her temple coated in blood.

Then she froze. Andy realized she hadn't heard voices in a while, but that squeaking... That was shoes against the cement floor. Quickly, she slid back down, pretending to still be out. She felt the vibration against the floor under her cheek as someone walked into the room. The sounds of their shoes on the floor and their heavy breathing echoed, bouncing off the walls. They stopped at Simonson first and there was a long quiet pause and then someone said, "Damnit Wes; this one's almost dead. You hit him too hard."

Then the shoes came closer, and Andy felt a tiny spray of dirt and gravel against the skin of her face as they shuffled up to her. Someone reached out, grabbed her chin, turned her face one way and then the other, and finally dropped her head back to the floor without a word. She flinched as she hit, but they must have been turned the other way. She worked to keep her breathing slow and even, praying they wouldn't check her pulse. It was racing and would have given her away in an instant. But the guy stood up and she heard the footsteps retreat. Andy waited until she heard both of them walk back into the other room, until she heard the conversation resume and then she peeked through slitted lids, making sure the room was once again empty. Once she'd decided it was, she sat up again.

She pulled the hoop from her ear. She normally wore studs, but she'd gone out for drinks with Traci the night before and had fallen into bed in full makeup and jewelry. Thank God she had. She bent it and worked the end into the locking mechanism of the handcuffs, much the way she had that first night at the Penny. It took a while. She wasn't breaking any records that was for sure. But after a minute or two, the cuff fell away and her arm fell to the floor, elbow smacking hard against the cement.

Andy winced and rubbed the joint and then crawled over to Simonson. She did the same thing they'd done to her, grabbed his chin, turned his head one way and then the other. She leaned close and listened for breath. A very slight wheeze. She put her fingers to his neck, checking for his carotid artery but it was weak. Very weak. The blood on his skin was tacky, slightly dried and his skin was maybe half a degree colder than it should have been. Barely noticeable, but it didn't feel right.

"I'll bring help," she whispered, even though she knew he couldn't hear her. She pushed herself to her feet. Her legs were wobbly and her head continued to swim. Her brain whispered the word 'concussion' but that wasn't going to help her right now and so she shoved it aside. She looked over her shoulder at the green shelf. It looked rickety but she thought she could climb it. And if she could climb it, she could pull the handle up on that window and get out.

The yelling continued and for a second she ignored it, walked a little unsteadily over to the shelf and put her hands on it, moving it ever so slightly to test its steadiness. It creaked a little and she froze, but the voices continued. She put her foot on the bottom shelf and then, as the noise quieted a little, she paused, looking over her shoulder. She realized that she hadn't seen any faces. She had no way of identifying the people in the other room.

Even though she fought herself the whole way, she found herself walking to the cinderblock wall, peering around the corner. Between her and them, there was another of those ugly green metal shelves. She peeked through the refuse piled on the shelves, convinced she was sufficiently hidden for the time being, and she focused on the figures across the room. In addition to the guy in the chair, there were five of them standing around. Far more than necessary, but two of them, bigger guys stood in a corner, away from the other three, talking to each other.

The other three were still arguing with each other, with the guy in the chair. But their voices were lowered. Things were starting to slow down. There was a slim silver-haired man in an expensive-looking sweater and a pair of khakis. In truth, he looked as harmless as a high school principal. Until he turned back to look at his cohorts and she saw his eyes. Cold, blue eyes. "You two should have never brought them in here. We've already got this guy to deal with. We don't need two cops to worry about." His voice was clipped, each syllable short and cold. And the other men in the room clearly deferred to him.

"Two cops and one snitch," one of them said, as he pointed at the guy in the chair. Tall and thin, with blonde hair, his features were angular, his body lean. Under a brown leather coat, he wore nice clothes, dress pants, a button-down shirt. Behind him sat a small table. And on that table, Andy could see her personal effects sitting in a pile with Terry's. No hope of getting those back any time soon.

"I swear," the kid cried out, panting. "I swear, I didn't say anything."

The third man, shorter and wiry, with short dark hair walked over to the desk in the corner and grabbed a roll of duct tape. He ripped off a piece and slapped it across the guy's mouth and pulled out his gun, silencer already in place. "Look, one of them is already dead. I say we do this guy, and then the girl. We can dump them all together." He started bickering with the tall guy again, and Andy watched as the man in the sweater held up his hand and the rest of them quieted.

He leaned over and pulled the tape off. "We know you were arrested a week ago. How did you get out? Where'd you get the money?"

The kid took a deep breath, then another. "From a friend."

"Not these guys," he gestured at the two heavy set guys standing off to the side. "They don't have two nickels to rub together." He squatted down in front of the kid in the orange hat. "See, I think you rolled over on me." His voice was dead calm. Eyes still on him, he held out his hand, and the shorter guy put the gun into his hand.

The kid's eyes started moving frantically. "I didn't. I didn't say anything."

"And yet, you're out," he said, not asking. "With your record, I'd think they'd hold you 'til trial." The gun pressed against his temple.

The kid took a deep breath, then another. "I guess the lawyer I got this time knew what he was doing," he said with a shaky laugh.

"You've become a liability. I've put up with your side job and your arrests in the past because you've been loyal, but this time, the stakes are too high." He turned to the tall guy. "You checked him for a wire?"

The tall blonde man in the leather nodded. "At the apartment."

"Why are cops coming to my warehouses; why are they checking my trucks?" the guy with the silver hair asked, his voice firm, getting louder by the second. "What did you tell them?"

One of the brothers took a small step forward, like he might be trying to interject, but the tall blonde man pulled another gun out, and trained it on his chest. "I wouldn't," he said very quietly. He held it on him until the guy stepped back into the corner.

"I swear. The cops aren't hearing anything from me," the kid said, pathetically, one last time, eyes moving frantically around as the barrel of the gun remained against the side of his head. Then the guy with the silver hair leaned forward and said, "You're lying," and pulled the trigger.

Andy heard a tiny squeak come out of her and she backed quickly into the dark room. She carried the chair over to the shelf, pressed it tight up against the lower shelves, steadying it. As she climbed, her feet shifted the items stacked on each shelf and she heard it groan under her weight.

The men were arguing again, louder about what they were supposed to do with three bodies as Andy pulled herself up to the top. There was a little ledge in front of the window and she put one knee on that and one on the shelf as she grasped the handle of the window. It took all her strength to pull it up, to force rusted hinges to open. The glass swung up and out, but only an inch. Andy straightened an arm and pushed hard at it, succeeding in moving it a little each time until finally it was open enough for her to squeeze through. She stuck her head and shoulders out and flipped over onto her back. Grabbing the outside of the building, she pulled herself through the window. Finally, she got her butt on the window ledge and pushed with her legs, and as she slid out, her legs fell as the shelf crashed to the floor. She heard running and then as she pulled her legs out, she heard a voice yell, "She's out the window."

Andy stood up, still a little dizzy and spun around, looking for the street. She started running in the direction she and Simonson had come. As she reached the end of the alley, she heard a door bang open behind her and she picked up the pace as she passed the squad car she no longer had a key to. Her breath was coming fast and heavy when she finally reached a street with a stoplight and she ran out into the middle of the road, waving her arms as a cab pulled up. She ran around and slid into the back seat as she saw two of the men exit the alley. She reached over and locked the door.

"Toronto Police, 15 Division." The cab didn't move and the men started over in their direction. "Just drive," she shouted and the cabbie's foot hit the gas and they pulled off onto the next street and drove away.

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><p><strong>I hope you all liked this, and, even more important, that it was readable and you'd like to see more. Please review!<strong>

**The story about the girl stabbing her ex? That really happened in my town a few months ago. People are messed up :)**


	3. Chapter 2

**Note: Sorry if this throws an update :) Just testing some things.**

**I know this story is a little dense, but...it should lighten up soon...soonish.**

**Also: This chapter is dedicated to icewitch73, who has been so incredibly busy with work and life that she has to squeeze in time just to email :) And thanks to cocobean2206, happyheart65 and rookiebluefan89. Again.**

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><p><em>Andy was sitting at the bar. She'd considered waiting for Sam, but as she walked out of the locker room, she caught sight of him, still in his uniform talking to Jerry. Their eyes met across the squad room and he gave her a small wave and mouthed 'I'll meet you.' After smiling back and nodding, she'd followed Chris and Dov out to the parking lot. So far, she'd been sitting on a stool, nursing her drink for the better part of an hour, waiting for him to walk through the door. Traci and Gail had begged off for the night. Traci was going home to Leo, and Gail had been MIA lately as far as after-hours drinks were concerned. Andy knew things weren't yet right between her and the boys, and she didn't blame her for hiding away for a while.<em>

_In truth, she didn't really want to be over on the other side of the room, laughing and carousing with Diaz and Epstein. It was too loud, too bright. She wanted to be back at her apartment with Sam, with a soft light and even softer whispers. A large warm hand slid over her shoulder, and when the skin of his palm brushed the side of her neck, Andy felt a zing run through her. He sat down next to her and she swiveled to the left as he let go of her to signal the bartender. Her leg touched his thigh and as he turned to face her, his knees pushed between hers. The hand that still rested on the bar moved down to her knee, squeezing it underneath the counter, out of sight of the rest of the clientele._

"_Sorry I'm late." His voice was quiet, but his smile was wide, and she caught a flash of teeth before he turned his head and dug into his pocket for a bill for the bartender._

_Under the bar, she slid her hand over his, tangling their fingers. "I'm in no hurry tonight." He took a sip and she watched as his lips parted and his tongue ran once over his lower lip. "What did Jerry want to talk to you about?"_

_He shook his head. "He had tickets to the game tomorrow, but I told him I was busy."_

"_Oh yeah?" she asked, raising a single brow. "What are you doing?"_

"_Hopefully, you," Sam said, grinning at her. A touch of laughter escaped her lips as she felt a slight warmth touch her face, her stomach, and lower. It flooded her almost instantaneously, leaving little doubt as to its source._

"_You're like the king of romance, you know that?" she asked, trying to sound casual, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Andy squeezed her legs against his. "What if I had other ideas?"_

_He let go of her hand to reach out and touch the hair at her temple, smoothing it behind her ear. "I'd probably die of shock." And then he laughed as her mouth dropped open in mock indignation._

"_You make me sound like some kind of nymphomaniac."_

_Sam held the glass up to his mouth, dropping his eyes. When he brought it down again, laughter and lust were blatantly shining out of his eyes. "You are a little…insatiable."_

"_Is that a fancy way of saying that I wear you out?" Andy asked giving his shoulder a small shove. Her lips curved into a grin. "Because I think it just means you need to work harder."_

"_That's not what you said this morning." Her eyes narrowed playfully as his hand returned to her thigh, running up and down the denim. "In fact," he said, working his fingers up her thigh, squeezing gently every few inches. "I don't think you could say much of anything when I got done with you." Her eyelids sunk a little with the thought and as she ran her lip through her teeth, she leaned into him. But he reached up, wrapped his hands around her arms and held her away from him. "I thought we weren't going to…" Sam glanced around at the other people in the room._

_She sat back. "I forgot," she said quietly, a little deflated._

"_It was your idea," he reminded her._

_Andy nodded and was quiet for a second as she put away the rest of her drink. And then she turned back to him. "It's not like it's a secret. Everyone knows," she said with a sly smile slowly spreading over her face._

"_They do." His expression mirrored hers, like they were partners in some great conspiracy._

"_I mean, we've been doing this for almost a week now." Her fingers traced a pattern on his knee, as she talked, trying to sound cool, laid-back._

_But he wasn't fooled. He kept his eyes on her. "We have."_

"_So, what's the big deal?" she asked, quietly, meeting his eyes with a startling intensity._

_Sam smirked, glad she'd finally come around to his way of seeing it. "You tell me." As his dimples popped out, she leaned forward again, quickly sliding her hands around his jaw and pulled his mouth to hers._

_She was in control of the situation for a grand total of two seconds. And then he put his hands on her shoulders, thumbs dipping down into the collar of her shirt. His fingers slid into her hair, cradling her head, and as she pulled away slightly to take a breath, he tipped his head to the side, capturing her mouth again. He deepened the kiss, and the whimper she made cut through him, splitting him into pieces. He tore his mouth away from hers and ran his hands over her hair, pushing it back from her face._

"_We need to get out of here," he said, his voice ragged as he bent his head, leaning it against hers._

"_Your place?" she whispered, her breath coming hard and fast in his ear._

"_Fine by me." He reached over, tossed back the rest of his drink and snatched her hand, pulling her from the bar stool._

_._

Andy jerked awake as someone touched her shoulder. Luke was crouched down in front of her and he frowned slightly as she sat bolt upright, scattering loose sheets of paper all over the floor. She glanced around blinking against the bright light coming in through the window, trying to figure out where she was. And then she remembered. She was on a couch in one of the offices tucked into the depths of the station house. Her hand instinctively went to her head, over the bandage partially hidden by her hair and she winced as she pressed it. And then she put her elbows on her knees and set her head in her hands and breathed as the events of the night washed over her like a tidal wave.

Once safely away from the warehouse, Andy had borrowed the cabbie's phone. She'd called into dispatch, leaving a somewhat frantic message stating her name and shield number and giving them a quick rundown of what they could expect to find. After arriving at the station, she'd come in the door and then literally run into Shaw who'd been sent to meet her. At the sight of the blood on her neck and fingers and the way her hands were shaking, the way her entire body was shaking, he'd quickly hustled her into the nearest empty room and sat her down. After giving her a quick once-over, he'd picked up the phone and called Best's direct line. Cars were already out, responding to the abandoned building and while Frank went to the scene, Shaw escorted Andy to the hospital.

She'd spent hours there. Scans were taken of her head, and she was now sporting a small bald patch towards the back of her head where they'd had to shave away the hair to stitch up the small laceration caused by the blow of the Maglite. In between visits from doctors and nurses, Shaw recorded her statement. They'd gone over and over it, and when Terry Simonson was brought in by ambulance, Shaw received the call on his radio. He'd disappeared for a while, maybe half an hour, and then returned with information. Simonson was still alive; just barely. Simonson had been rushed into surgery to alleviate the pressure in his brain, but there was no news yet.

The doctors had strenuously objected to her leaving the hospital, but Andy was feeling pressure to get back to the station, and so after having her sign a release, they let her go. All she'd really wanted to do was go home and shower; to crawl into a pair of flannel pajamas and fall into bed. But the sun was going to be up soon, and she wasn't done yet; she couldn't stop moving yet. She had to go back to work.

She took a quick rinse, trying not to watch the way the water turned pink as she washed the blood out of her hair. And then she'd dressed in her civvies, feeling very much the outsider as she walked through the station. By that time, everyone had heard a different version of the story and as she made her way through the building, they stared openly at her, looking for any tidbit of information.

Best had made it back and was waiting to question her in his office. His haggard appearance reminded her that she hadn't slept in almost twenty-four hours and before she walked into his office, she'd stopped at the coffee cart and poured herself a cup. Still on nights, Shaw had been relieved for the day, and was free to go home to his wife and children. Barber had been called in early, as well as Callaghan, and the four of them sat together in the office.

Andy crossed her legs and sat back in the chair as Frank filled them in. When he got to the part about Simonson, their eyes jumped to her and she looked away, feeling more than a little guilty that she'd just left him there.

"He's still in the ICU, but even after the surgery, it's not looking good."

Jerry leaned back against the wall. "You called his wife?"

Best nodded. "She's at the hospital now. I'm heading over as soon as we finish up here."

"But they didn't find the other guy, the one you say was shot?" Luke asked as he glanced at her, crossing his ankle over his knee.

"He _was_ shot," Andy said, her voice firm. Her eyes met his and he blinked when he saw the tired anger glittering in them.

Best shook his head. "We've got blood, but no body. In fact, other than Simonson, and a bullet in the wall, they didn't find _anything_ else. CSU is still there, doing what they can, but the last report I got wasn't very promising. No one in the neighborhood saw or heard a thing. McNally is going to start going through the mug shots when we're finished here."

Jerry stood up and took a few steps, restless. "So they got all your information, wallet, phone, keys?"

"And my gun," Andy filled in, a blush of embarrassment touching her cheeks. "I still have to call the bank, and the credit card company, suspend my cell service, get my locks changed," she finished quietly.

"I don't know, Frank." Luke swept a hand over his face and then over the back of his neck. "I have a bad feeling about this. Maybe we should set up a protective detail."

"I don't really think that's necessary," Andy argued.

Jerry nodded. "I think it's a little early for that. Let's just take this one step at a time. We should get started." He stepped towards the door but Frank stopped him.

He tapped his pen against the surface of his blotter and then looked up at Jerry. "Barber, I think we should debrief everyone who responded to the scene and set up a new team dedicated to this case. This situation is extremely sensitive, and I don't want information leaked to the press. They're going to be all over us as it is. And I want to keep the information about McNally on a need-to-know basis. I don't want you to have to deal with gawkers and questions here at work," he said looking at her. "And I don't want you to talk to anyone about this. You report only to the people in this room."

She nodded. "Yeah, okay." She stood up. "I guess... I guess I'll get to it then." She walked over to the door, and as she pulled it open, Jerry spoke.

"You said one of them called another one by name."

She turned toward him. "Yeah." Her brows drew together as she thought back. "He called him Wes." Jerry stared at her for a moment, and she had the distinct impression that he wasn't seeing her, but something else inside his head. "What is it?"

He shook his head. "Maybe nothing. I need to make some calls, check something out. Let me know if you find anything in the computer."

He walked out of the room and Andy turned back to Luke. "What was that about?"

He was staring out the window after Jerry. "I have no idea." He pushed himself to his feet. "Are we done for now?" he asked Frank. At his nod, Luke strode to the door and gestured for her to exit ahead of him. "I'm going to put you in one of the offices. Keep you out of the spotlight for a while." He jerked his head over the railing and Andy looked, seeing a sea of people look away. If it had been one, it might have been barely noticeable, but when it was a dozen, it was about as subtle as a train wreck.

"Thanks." She nodded and followed him.

Andy'd lasted about an hour in front of the monitor before her eyes started to close, and her head started to droop. There was a stack of pictures lying on the printer that she'd wanted to look through a second time and she took them with her over to the utilitarian-looking sofa crammed into the corner of the room. And then she'd stretched out on her back, balancing the short stack of papers on her stomach as she went through them one by one. They went into two piles. No and maybe. She knew if she couldn't pick them out soon, she'd be in trouble. Her memory was fading more and more with every passing minute. The doctor had warned her that things might be vague because of the concussion. He'd also warned her that she'd be tired.

And so it was no surprise when her chin fell to her chest, her eyes fell shut, and the papers settled into a messy pile on her torso as she dropped off to sleep.

Luke touched her shoulder again and her head snapped up as he wrenched her out of the spell of memories.

She murmured a hurried, "Sorry," and pulled back, looking around as she started to gather up the pictures.

"You've been in here for hours," Luke said, looking at her, concerned. "You're not finished, are you?"

She shook her head. "I had to stop; I was passing out. I printed out some that were close, but none of them look exactly right." She closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them again. "Some of the details are a little fuzzy."

"I'm not surprised." His voice was gentle, taking on a soothing tone he usually reserved for settling the nerves of suspects. He bent in close to her and she found that she was too tired to care. "You've barely slept in twenty-four hours, and this…" He reached out and touched the back of her head and again, she leaned away, even as her hand went to the same place.

She shook her head. "No, I'm fine." As Luke rose from his crouch, she pushed the papers into a semi-ordered stack and stood up. "I guess I should go give these to Jerry."

Luke raised his eyebrows and looked like he didn't agree but he nodded and then moved past her to open the door. "After you."

Andy and Luke wove between the desks finally making their way over to Jerry's. He was on the phone with someone, deep into conversation and he held out his hand as Andy walked up; she gave him the pictures. Quickly, while still listening to the person on the other end, he flipped through, finally pausing when he reached the end of the pile.

"I'm going to have to call you back." He tucked the cell phone back into his shirt pocket and then looked up at Andy. "How sure are you about these?"

She pulled a chair over next to his and bit her lip. "Honestly, not very. Some of them, these," she said, as she pulled a couple off the top. "These I'm sure about." He looked at them. Evan and Chris Malone. Both had done time for minor crimes. A little B&E. A little petty theft.

"What about this guy?" Barber held up a picture. Paul Allen. Andy stared at it. The guy in the picture resembled the man she'd seen. His blonde hair was longer, and he was younger by quite a few years. But his face was the same shape, his nose and chin had the same angularity.

She shook her head. "It could be him. Maybe. Last night was really…" she trailed off, trying to explain it, the stress of the moment, the inability to hold all the faces in her head. "Maybe."

Jerry nodded. "Okay. Well give me some time. I'll pull some records and make some calls and I'll let you know if I find something."

* * *

><p>"Schofield." Sam looked up towards the door. All morning, he'd felt eyes on him. He tried to ignore it, figuring it was just general curiosity. But something had changed in the hours since he'd last been there. The Malones were no longer supervising; they were doing manual labor, loading equipment into a truck backed up to the loading dock, just like everyone else. Sam hadn't heard Clay return the night before, although it wouldn't be the first time he disappeared for hours at a time. But for the second time in two weeks, he hadn't shown up for work. And there was someone new in play.<p>

Allen was standing near the exit with another guy. The one from the night before, in the hallway of his building. He walked up to meet them. The new guy hit maybe at his eyebrows but looked hard, wiry. His hair was close-cropped and his eyes had a dangerous glint to them. The two of them stared at each other for a moment before Sam looked away to Allen.

"Yeah. What can I do for you?"

"I knew your cousin." Sam felt a small prickle of sweat start between his shoulder blades. Not good. Allen rubbed a hand over his mouth. "What I mean, is I met him a few times. We weren't exactly friends; he was kind of a quiet guy. Must be a family trait." He looked at Sam curiously, and Sam looked back fighting to keep any expression off his face until he knew where he was headed. Allen raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Anyway, we worked together on a few things. He seemed like a good man to have in a pinch."

"I guess you could say that," Sam said, his brows drawing together.

"So, we were wondering if you'd like to make a little cash tonight. Do a little overtime."

Swarek glanced over at the smaller guy and then fixed his eyes on Allen. "What's the job?" The blonde man raised his eyebrows and Sam settled his hands on his hips. "Hey man, I don't do anything until I get information. That's how I ended up inside in the first place."

Allen flashed a quick, icy smile. "Something came up and Bishop's gotta get out of town for a while, but he wants to make arrangements for his next trip. He's having a little meeting, nothing major. We just need some extra muscle. Just in case."

Sam raised an eyebrow and swiveled a little, turning to look at the brothers working behind him. They were talking quietly between themselves, throwing dirty glances across the room at the three of them. "I'm not exactly the biggest guy in the room."

Allen glanced over at them and then crossed his arms over his chest. "The Malones are out. We've got another job for them."

Sam gave Chris and Evan one last look, and then turned back and held out his hand. "I guess that means I'm in," he said with an easy grin.

The blonde man smirked and shook his hand. He jerked his head towards the other guy. "This is Jimmy Weston; Wes. He'll pick you up at nine."

* * *

><p>"I think Clay Warren is missing," Sam said into his phone as he sipped from his coffee. He'd ducked into a nearby coffee shop on his lunch break.<p>

"What do you mean 'missing'?" Boyd asked. His voice was already beginning to achieve that tense, rapid quality reserved for his more impressive over-reactions.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. His head was pounding. "I mean, he didn't show up to work today, and the Malones…something's weird with them. I wasn't there, but something happened last night." He glanced out the window, checking for familiar faces. "And I've been promoted."

"Explain."

"Allen approached me. Said they need another guy for some meeting tonight."

"You think it's going down tonight?"

Sam paused and then gave his head a slight shake. "No. It don't think so. There's not enough time. Bishop's leaving town. But they say he's coming back."

"Do you want a team in place?"

Again, he hesitated. A team could risk the whole thing. One sniff of anything out of the ordinary and the entire operation would be finished. Almost a tempting thought. "No. I don't want to spook them. If I get a bad feeling, I'll let you know." He saw Allen walking briskly across the street, leather jacket flapping in the wind, and stood up, cup in hand. "You'll find Clay Warren, right?"

"I'll see what I can do, but if you think he's missing, my guess is..."

"Yeah, that's what I figured too. Hold on a second."

He slid his open phone into the pocket of his coat and met Allen at the door, getting a friendly clap on the shoulder as they passed. He glanced once more at him over his shoulder as he walked back out onto the street and around the corner of the building. The phone came back out and he took a sip of his coffee before he spoke. "Hey, have you ever heard of a guy named Jimmy Weston? He wasn't in the file you gave me."

"Yeah, that guy was around when Bishop was living in the city. He was a stone cold killer. Probably the one who pulled the trigger on those kids. Why?"

"Cause he's here."

"No man. That guy's dead. Firemen pulled his corpse out of a burning building right before Bishop disappeared. Had ID and everything."

"Well, better call a priest then, because the guy's been resurrected." Sam paused as he peered around the corner and watched Allen go back to work. "Listen, do I need to be worried about him?"

"I don't know. How does it feel?"

"Okay for now. But the guy's my ride tonight. He's not going to take me out to the docks and put a bullet in me is he?"

"Sammy, if this guy really is Jimmy Weston and he wanted you dead, you'd be dead. He's a pro."

"Somehow that doesn't make me feel better."

"Let me check some things and I'll get back to you. Are you sure you don't want a team?" he asked again.

Sam took a breath and considered it one more time. Finally he shook. "No. No one seems worried enough. We've still got a lot of work to do. If the deal was going down tonight, they'd be panicking."

"Give me a shout when you get back tonight. Let me know what happened." He paused and Sam heard him draw a breath. "If you're still serious about getting out, you could be going home tomorrow."

Sam closed his eyes and leaned back against the building, feeling no small amount of relief and hope spread through his chest. As the smile took over his face he ducked his head. "Later, man." He snapped the phone shut and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat, smile fading as he turned to go back to work.

* * *

><p>At 3:30 pm, Andy was dead on her feet. The two-hour nap hadn't been enough to replenish her energy, nor had the few items she was able to get out of the snack machine. And it was weird being at the station with a building full of cops she didn't know very well. Her people would be starting their fourth night shift this week in a few hours, but she'd probably be gone by then. God willing, she'd be asleep in her bed. The phone next to her rang and she automatically picked it up, eyes raising to the window overlooking the squad room as she heard Best's voice asking her to come to his office.<p>

When she got there, she realized she'd joined a roomful. Barber and Callaghan were pouring over an open file arguing quietly between themselves while Best had his eyes on a tall woman in a suit, talking on her cell. As soon as she spotted Andy in the doorway, she got off the phone and turned to Frank.

"Well, let's get started." She gestured at the empty chair and Andy sat gingerly, a little nervous.

"Barber," Frank said, and Jerry looked over and, seeing Andy, pulled another chair up to hers and held the file on his lap. He started digging through it, until he had everything in the order he wanted it.

"Recognize this guy?" The kid in the orange hat. In the picture, he looked exactly the same as he had the night before, sans hat, blood and dirt. It was a recent mug shot.

"Yep, that's him. That's the one that got shot."

"Clay Warren. Known associate of these two." The two pictures of Chris and Evan Malone came out. "And him." Paul Allen. "And all of them at one time worked for this guy. Probably still do. Look familiar?"

The man with the silver hair stared back at her. It wasn't a mug shot. It was a surveillance photo. Taken with a telephoto lens, shot from a distance, he was standing near a dark-colored sedan with a few others who had their backs to the camera. His hair was similar in color, though longer in the photo and his face was a little more filled out than it had been when Andy had seen him. And if she was honest with herself, he could almost be handsome, if it weren't for his eyes. They were striking, but not in the good way that made a person smile simply by looking into them. In a more terrifying way that made Andy cross her arms over her chest defensively, just looking at the picture. Sinister.

She nodded. "Who is he?"

"This," Barber paused dramatically, "is Malcolm Bishop."

It felt like her throat was closing. For a second, she couldn't catch her breath. Jerry was going on, explaining who Bishop was but finally, Andy waved a hand at him.

"I already know all this," she croaked.

He shrugged. "I'm not surprised. The guy's notorious."

"No, I mean, I've heard of him recently." She hesitated, suddenly aware that she could be in a lot of trouble for saying what she was about to say. But then, she was already in trouble. Time to spill her guts. "Bishop is Sam's undercover job. They're trying to bring him in."

All at once, the office exploded with sound as Jerry leapt to his feet and Luke met him at Best's desk and the three of them started yelling. Or rather, they started talking; one over the next, but within moments, the volume rose and started echoing around the room. Andy could only stare in shock as hands started flying, gesturing wildly.

The woman in the suit stuck two fingers in her mouth and let out a shrill whistle. They all paused and turned towards her. "Gentlemen, we need to finish this. Your guy has been undercover for…" she looked at Andy.

"Two months," Andy supplied.

"For two months. He can wait another fifteen minutes." None of them moved, but none of them spoke again either and so she walked over and took the chair Jerry had vacated. "No one bothered to introduce me, so I guess I'll do it myself. Karen Anderson. I'm with the Ontario Provincial Police. Originally, I was supposed to talk to you about possibly setting up a protective detail, but after talking to Jerry and Frank," she glanced at them, "and given what we know about Bishop, I think we should probably discuss your other options."

"What do you mean?"

Luke and Jerry both turned to face her and Jerry closed the file, tucking it under his arm as he spoke. "This guy doesn't like loose ends, and he has a history of killing witnesses."

Luke was nodding. "A guy like this, he's not going to want to go down for the murder of his own small time drug dealer."

"What about the attempted murder of a cop?" Andy asked, suddenly feeling numb from the ground up.

"You mean Simonson?" Luke asked with his eyebrows raised. "You said someone named Wes did that. And _he_ is a whole different problem." Jerry handed him the photo and he held it up for Andy to see and when she nodded, he passed it back.

Jerry took it in his hand and looked at it for a moment. "Everyone thought this guy Jimmy Weston died in a fire years ago, but if he's back, you've got trouble. He'd shoot his own mother if the money was right." He held up the pictures of Allen and Bishop. "These two will kill you to keep you quiet." He exchanged those pictures for the picture of Weston. "This guy… He'll kill you for fun."

"Geez, Jerry," Luke said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

"Well, she needs to hear this," Barber snapped, looking over at him.

Andy pressed her lips together and ran both hands through her hair, wincing a little as she hit the sore spot. Her elbows landed on her knees and she pressed her face into her palms for a moment, trying to figure out how everything could have possibly gone so wrong.

"Ms. McNally?" Andy turned her head, and then sat up as she realized the woman was talking to her again. "Are you ready to go on?" Andy pulled her hands inside the sleeves of her shirt and held them between her knees and nodded silently.

"Okay," Anderson said, not really sounding as if she believed her. "There are a few levels to this. We have the very temporary protective detail, putting a car on your apartment, stationing an officer with you when you move around town. There's emergency relocation, which lasts few days; a week at most. We have short term protective custody, which is designed to last anywhere from a few months to a year. And then there's permanent witness protection, which I'm sure you're familiar with."

"I'm not doing that," Andy said quickly, back stiffening until she was sitting ramrod straight in the chair.

"Just hold on. Hear me out." She raised her eyebrows and Andy nodded. "Ontario does have its own version of Witness Protection, but given the magnitude of this guy's reputation and reach, not to mention the fact that almost every province wants a piece of him, the RCMP would probably take over, if it comes to that. They usually assist with these sorts of things anyway. I've already made a few calls, and they're sending a team to Toronto from another location to meet with you. Just to talk," she added quickly, seeing the expression on Andy's face. "They'll be here in the morning."

"But that's not necessary," Andy said. "Nothing's happened. And I'm a cop; I can protect myself. Witness protection is for criminals and snitches."

"We take innocent people too."

"I'm not going anywhere," she said adamantly, standing up as she folded her arms over her chest. "They aren't coming after me. What's next?" she asked, looking at Frank. "What can I do to help?"

The men glanced at each other and then Frank turned to her. "I guess if you really don't want the detail, I think the best thing you can do now is to go home and get some rest. You're exhausted."

"I'm not the only one," she said raising an eyebrow at him.

He waved a hand. "Part of the job, McNally. I want someone to go with you, and check over your place before you turn in for the night. Callaghan?" Everyone looked at Luke. His face was still tense, eyes wide with concern and anger.

"Yeah. Just let me grab some stuff, a copy of the file, and I'll be ready." He stalked out of the room and Best waved Andy and Jerry up to his desk.

"I'm going to get ahold of Boyd, if I can, and find out what the deal is with Swarek." His eyes moved between Jerry and Andy, and nervously, she tucked her hair behind an ear and wrapped her arms around herself. "But I'm not making any promises. We want to haul these guys in. However, if they're close to making a bust, he may decide to let it sit for a day or two and then charge them with the whole mess when they make the arrests."

Jerry glanced at Andy out of the corner of his eye. "Then you'd better not tell him that McNally's involved." She looked at him and her eyebrows rose. "Only because Swarek's got a blind spot as far as she's concerned. You tell him she's involved, and he'll quit, which will not only blow his case, but it'll give them a head's up. They'll know we're closing in on them, skip town and we'll never see them again."

Best folded his hands behind his head. "McNally?" He looked at her. She was still staring at Barber in disbelief.

He looked back. "You know it's true."

She considered it. If Sam heard that she'd gotten involved in this case, he would come back. He'd walk. He'd be back and they could start over fresh. At the thought, Andy felt a rush of relief push through her veins and she blew out a breath, ready to tell him he was wrong, that she needed Sam here. And then the guilt came. If Sam left unexpectedly, Bishop might slip right through their fingers and then what happened to Terry would haunt her for the rest of her life. Could she live with the knowledge that her selfishness had caused his attacker to get away without being brought to justice? After a long moment, she nodded haltingly. "Yeah. Yeah, he's right. If they think they're close, let's wait a few days."

Best looked surprised, but pleased with her decision. "Are you sure?" She nodded. "Alright. I'll leave McNally out of it for now. Time to get back to work," he said to Barber. "And McNally?"

"Yeah?"

"Try and get some sleep." She nodded.

* * *

><p>Somewhere around five o'clock, Andy slid the spare key she'd gotten from the landlord into the lock. It was a new key, barely ever used with sharp edges, so it took a little jiggling, but the door opened under her hand. She stood in the doorway and stared in.<p>

Shadows were settled heavily in the corners of the living room and she flipped the lights on, chasing them away. Luke walked up behind her, putting his hand on her shoulder like he did it every day, and she pulled away from him, walking into the apartment. Now that she was home, she felt the fatigue fall down around her, weighing her body down, making her feet and arms feel heavy. She put her duffel on the floor near the kitchen counter and paused as her eyes fell on the stack of mail on the counter. Piled neatly, largest on the bottom, smallest envelopes on the top, just like she always left it. But the top letter was askew, sitting perpendicular to the letters below it. She tilted her head and stared at it trying to remember if it had looked like that the last time she'd been there. And as a tiny prickle of sweat broke out along her spine, she moved into the living room.

Everything in here was spotless. She'd given the apartment a thorough cleaning the day before, and so things were put away. But the pillows against the back of the couch were a little creased, maybe a touch crooked. She felt her breathing pick up, and she spun around, nearly barreling into Luke as she quickly made her way through the apartment. The dining room table looked the same. It was a mess anyway; she'd never know if anything had been touched. Her shoes slapped against the floor on the way down to the bedroom and as she walked into the room, she paused and tried to remember.

Had she sat on the foot of the bed and left the duvet wrinkled like that? The far corner of it was touching the floor and she felt her hands start to tremble a little. Moving to the dresser, she let her eyes move quickly over the items on top. Everything looked ever so slightly…adjusted. But she couldn't remember. She couldn't remember if she'd left her deodorant facing the wrong way, or if the pile of receipts and refuse cleaned out of her wallet was that messy. And then, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth, she sucked in a breath and held it as she reached out and touched the top drawer, pushing at it with her index finger. It slid in half an inch.

"Everything okay?"

Andy whirled as Luke spoke right behind her. As she turned, her shoulder brushed his chest and instinctively, she took a step back, crossing her arms across her chest.

"I don't know."

He frowned a little and then looked around. "What's wrong?"

"It feels like someone's been here."

"What do you mean?"

She pointed to the bed and hooked a thumb over her dresser. "I can't remember what things looked like when I left, but I don't think I left them like this."

"Is anything missing?" He walked around, eyes moving over the bed and the nightstand, over the top of her dresser.

"Not that I know of, but… I don't know. It just feels wrong. Like someone came in and touched everything, but didn't move it enough so I would know for sure."

He paused and then turned on his heel and walked back to the living room. She followed. "I'm calling it in," he said as he looked over his shoulder at her. She nodded and then wrapped her arms around herself and walked over to the window. Outside, the street was dark; nighttime came early in January. She looked up and down the block. No one on the street. No cars coming from either direction.

As something occurred to her, she walked back to the bedroom, ducked down and looked under the bed. Her laptop sat in exactly the same place she'd put it after checking her email after her last shift. It was password protected anyway. If they'd wanted to look at it, they'd probably have taken it. Next to it, sat her lockbox that contained all her important papers, birth certificate, passport and the like. It also looked untouched. She pulled it out and then turned and slid the drawer out from her nightstand. She dug inside it for a second and finally came up with the key tucked all the way in the back. After opening it, she saw everything stacked neatly, edges lined up. Shaking her head slightly, she locked it back up and replaced everything and went back to meet Luke.

"They're on their way. Best, Barber and Anderson. And they're bringing a few uniforms to fill out a report." Andy nodded absently and then started checking other things. Her digital camera was sitting in the mess on the table, but it had been there for a month. The memory card was still tucked into the little zippered pocket in her duffel. And then, she moved to the bookshelf.

On the second shelf from the top was a round votive holder. It was about the size of a softball and made up of a mosaic of several shades of blue stained glass. It was the only real present Sam had ever given her. One day, almost two months ago, she'd seen it in the window of an antique store while they were walking to lunch. She'd never pointed it out, hadn't said a word about it, but he'd seen her look at it, had seen the curious, desirous expression on her face, and then it had shown up in the mail two days before Christmas with a card. But there had never been a candle put into it; it had another purpose. Holding her breath as she reached out for it, she put a hand over the top and turned it over. When Sam's keys fell into her hand, she exhaled gratefully and tucked them into her pocket.

"What are those for?" Luke asked over her shoulder.

"None of your business." Her fingers stroked once over the hard bulge in her pocket, closing her eyes and wishing for a long moment that she'd tried to convince Sam not to go. That he were the one in her apartment with her right now.

"Well, you shouldn't touch anything else. CSU's going to want to dust for prints."

She opened her eyes and shook her head. "If they were this careful, they didn't leave any prints."

"Even so. Just wait." Again, his hand touched her shoulder and she pulled away, rotating the joint to shake him off. She walked into the kitchen and poured herself a drink, putting it away quickly, and then poured another. She looked up as Luke stepped into the room.

"Want one?" She raised an eyebrow, but he shook his head.

"You know, Andy, I…" He broke off as a knock sounded on the door and he paused, mouth open for a moment and eyes on her before he turned and walked over, opening it.

As Andy heard Best and Barber walk into the apartment, she took a huge swallow of scotch and set the glass on the counter. "Let the circus begin," she muttered.

* * *

><p>Andy sat on the steps of her building with her glass in her hand, arm balanced on her knee. She clutched her coat tighter around her as she stared through the bottom of it at her feet. Upstairs, CSU was finishing up. Best, Barber and Anderson had all left about an hour before, and Luke was standing at the curb, talking to Shaw. Shaw and Peck had been the responding officers and had come in and taken her statement. Andy tried to ignore the questioning looks that Gail had been shooting at her over her notepad the whole time, and when she'd been sent out to the car and Shaw had taken over, Andy was grateful. But now they were headed back to the station.<p>

When Best, Barber and Anderson had walked into the apartment, they'd skipped right through the chit chat and hustled her out of the apartment so they could talk her through everything and keep her away from any potential evidence. She didn't have much to tell them. They'd been called in based on an instinct, based on a swirly feeling deep in the pit of her stomach and as embarrassed as she was about that, she knew it had been the right thing to do. And so this time, when Anderson pulled her aside and sat her down on the steps to talk about protection, she'd sat still and listened. When Anderson had suggested a safe house, Andy shook her head and countered with another offer.

What if she went and stayed at Sam's? The house was empty. No one outside the department could connect her to it. But Anderson responded negatively to the suggestion. If Andy was being harassed by the very people that were employing Sam, it probably wasn't the best idea for her to lead them to his doorstep. What if they forced their way in and saw a picture of him? He'd be dead within an hour. And that made sense to Andy. She couldn't go there, as much as she wanted to; as much as she needed the comfort of his house and his things around her.

So it had been decided that Andy would stay where she was for the time being; and a protective detail would be stationed outside her building for the next few days. There wasn't any actual proof that her apartment had been broken into. CSU had found dozens of prints, but Andy was willing to bet that every single one of them was hers. No one in the building had seen anyone entering or leaving; no strange cars had been observed on the street or in the alley. It was literally like a ghost had swept through, leaving the place with a sense of unease.

She watched as Luke tapped his hand on the roof of the squad car and it drove away; Shaw gave her a solemn wave as it passed and she nodded to him. Luke made his way back up the walk and then held out his hand to help her to her feet. Shaking her head, she pushed herself off the steps as she heard CSU coming down the stairs, their bags rustling against the walls in the stairwell.

Andy could feel Luke's irritation. She was purposely keeping him at a distance. She didn't trust him; still didn't want him anywhere near her, but he was capable and willing to keep her safe until the protective detail showed up. So she let him follow her up the stairs after sending CSU on their way. The locksmith had been called, but hadn't yet arrived; even with the cops pushing at him, he might not show until morning.

The lights were off, and though the sun was only starting to go down, her apartment felt cold and dark. She heard Luke behind her and when he set his hand on her shoulder for the third time that night, she stepped inside.

Walking through the entry, she looked around. To her left sat the living room, couch, rug, coffee table, television, bookshelves. To her right, the dining room table, chairs all pushed in, papers and magazines pushed into some sort of order by CSU. A little further past that, the kitchen. She stepped forward and flipped on a light and her eyes fell to a small smudge of dust left on the island by the clean-up crew and she reached out, rubbed her thumb against it.

Andy walked through the short hallway back to the bedroom and took off her coat, draping it over the end of the bed. It didn't feel like her apartment anymore. And as tired as she was, she didn't want to be here. She didn't want to touch the furniture, or eat the food in the fridge. Luke came in, interrupting her ruminations and she threw a dirty look his way, remembering that she was also irritated for another reason.

"Everything okay in here?"

"As okay as it's going to get," she said as she walked past him, out the door. She knew she was on a clock; she had maybe two minutes before she lost it completely.

He followed her back down the hall and when she split off towards the bathroom, he went straight towards the kitchen. He sat down at the table and pulled out his phone. "You mind?"

"Knock yourself out." She pulled a towel out of the linen closet. "I'm taking a quick shower. I'll be back in a few minutes." Not waiting for a response, she walked into the bathroom, flipping on the light as she turned around and locked the door behind her. The water was turned on, adjusted for temperature and then she started dragging off her clothes. Finally, she stood in front of the vanity in her underwear and stared at herself in the mirror.

Best had been right. She looked awful. The circles under her eyes were obvious; grayish-purple smudges that could have been painted on. Her hair hung limply down over her shoulders, which were sagging. Rolling her head around on her shoulders, she heard her neck crack and she pulled off her remaining clothing and stepped into the shower.

That was better. She stood still, back to the spray and let it beat at her tired muscles. If it was possible, she felt worse than she looked. Utterly exhausted and beyond any physical pain, once she let herself relax, she just hurt inside. It took only seconds for the tears to rise to her eyes and she leaned against the wall and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes as she let herself cry for Terry Simonson, and for the feeling exploding inside her whenever she thought of Sam, and for the fear that was starting to work its way through her.

When the sobs stopped, and her shoulders stopped heaving, she turned into the spray, letting it pelt her until the skin on her back was numb and then she quickly washed her hair. She took her time drying off, combing her hair, getting dressed, hoping that when she finally emerged, Luke would be gone and a squad car would be sitting outside her building. She didn't feel like pretending to be polite. Not that she'd been doing such a great job of it up until this point. She cracked the door, letting out a billow of steam and heard him still talking on the phone. No such luck.

She made damp foot prints down the hallway to the kitchen and poured herself a tall glass of water. And noticing that the conversation had stopped, she turned to look at Luke, sitting at the dining room table. He had his phone in his hand, thumb on the buttons but he was watching her. "What?"

He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "Best is still trying to get ahold of Boyd. Apparently, he has some major bust going down tonight. Another case," he added as her eyes lit up. As she frowned and looked away, he leaned back in his chair. "You should really think about your other options."

She walked over to the window overlooking the street. No squad car. "I'm not going anywhere, Luke," she said softly.

"I know you don't want to hear this, but you might have to." He stood up and stepped up next to her. "The protective detail is just a temporary fix."

She shook her head. "No. I've got a life here. A job, my friends, my Dad…" _Sam._ She didn't say it, but the thought of him made her chest ache. "I'm not going anywhere," she repeated; partly for Luke, but mostly for herself. "They'll bring Bishop in, and everything will go back to normal."

"I wouldn't hold your breath." She glanced at him. "There's a reason this guy's still walking around, Andy. He's not stupid."

"He's stupid enough to kill off his own staff with two cops in the next room," she mumbled. She felt him move closer, and his hand settled on her head and ran over her hair. Andy knew he only meant to give her comfort, but his touch did nothing to soothe her; in fact, it did the opposite. She turned out from under it and took a step to her right.

"You've changed," Luke said as she moved away from him.

"No, I haven't." She tossed the words over her shoulder, not even bothering to look back.

"Yeah," he said, as he sunk down onto her couch and crossed an ankle over his knee. "You're different."

"God, you're full of it." She didn't mean for it to come out harshly, but she was exhausted, and he was pushing her.

"You're moody. Quiet."

"Geez, Luke. I'm sorry. I've had kind of a shitty day," she said sarcastically as she rolled her eyes and started walking past him to the living room. But she stopped when he grabbed her arm.

"It's not just this. You've been distracted and angry for weeks." She pulled out of his grasp and sat down on the couch. He followed her into the room. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened. Everything's fine." She glanced around. "Well, except for this whole mess." He was giving her that look again; that probing, curious look. "What?" she practically yelled, so incredibly tired after a day of nonstop interrogation.

"Are you seeing someone new?"

She met his eyes directly. "You _know_ who I'm seeing."

"Swarek." It wasn't a question. At her irritated nod, he snorted. "Andy, the guy's been off the grid for months. You're not seeing him. At least you're not supposed to be seeing him," he added, raising an eyebrow.

"_Two_ months. And I'm not seeing him. I mean, I am, but I'm not," she amended and then, she narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Why not?"

"Why do you _think_?" She stood up and stepped past him, but he walked after her. "Besides, he'll be back in February. Maybe sooner."

"Oh yeah? How do you know that?"

"Because he said so."

Luke sneered. "He's not going to risk a major takedown just because he made you a promise. Do you always believe everything people tell you?" His voice was strange. Hard, each syllable sharp. And jealous, she realized. It made her even angrier. And it was kind of nice to be angry about something she could fight back against.

She whirled. "Well, I believed you when you said you weren't still hung up on Jo. So, yeah. I guess I do." His expression grew stony then, the muscles in his face tightened and before he could open his mouth she shook her head. "None of this even matters anymore. We are_ not_ talking about Sam."

"Why not? Afraid you'll hear something you'll wish you hadn't?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at him. "Considering I've been _sleeping_ with him, I think I know him a little bit better than you do."

She said it to hurt him, and from the look that passed over his face, she'd succeeded. But he wasn't done with her yet. "You can't sleep with someone you never see. Aren't you afraid he'll come back and things won't be the same? Living the way he is, it changes people."

She tried to move past him, but he moved with her, blocking her exit. That fear, that things had somehow changed, had been lingering in the back of her mind the entire time Sam had been gone. She knew it was ridiculous. There was absolutely no reason for her to think that, and yet, there it was. People grew apart, especially when they_ were_ apart physically. And she hated Luke for guessing about the fear. "Our relationship is none of your business," she said finally, quietly; not quite trusting the steadiness of her voice.

"What relationship?" he laughed, bitterly. "You were only with him a few weeks before he went under. You've been apart longer than you were together. It's not like it's serious."

She pressed her lips together and shook her head very slowly, rage shining out of her eyes. "It _is_ serious."

"Yeah, right." Luke snorted. "Andy, at three weeks, you and couldn't even spend the night at my place. It took you months before you could even tell me you loved me. You don't settle in that quick."

She glared back. "At three _days_, I was more serious about him than I ever was about you." Okay, not exactly the truth, it had actually taken a few more days. But she'd hit a soft spot. The way his face fell was something she'd never forget but she didn't move to comfort him; didn't take back a single word. He just stared at her, as his angry expression fractured into devastation. "Even if you hadn't cheated on me," she started, each word dripping with venom, "this wouldn't have worked out. We might have gotten married, or…whatever." She flung her arms out to the sides in a wild gesture. "But I was in love with him even then; I just didn't know it. So quit touching me, and quit pushing, and quit trying to talk me out of it, because it's not going to work," she spat out. She watched as he set his jaw, steeling himself against her words, even as he took a step back and folded his arms defensively. "The detail should be here any minute. Feel free to let yourself out."

She turned then, hair swinging out heavily behind her as she walked back to the bedroom and slammed the door. She slapped at the light switch, flooding the room in darkness and fell onto the bed. She put an arm over her eyes, feeling the room spin just a tiny bit; she wasn't completely sober yet. And then she heard it. The sound of the door shutting behind him as he walked out. She pushed out a loud breath of relief and then stood up, looking out the window onto the street. No squad car yet, but Luke was walking away. She watched him get into his car and start it up; and then she turned away and went to lock the door.

* * *

><p>"I don't know about this, man." Chris Malone pulled the cigarette lighter out and lit up, blowing a stream of smoke towards the open window. They were parked on the street, a few houses down from the brick building they were watching. On the second floor, the side window was lit and a figure was moving around in the room. They'd actually stopped on this street three hours ago, but the place had been a zoo. There'd been cop cars, and people in uniform walking around the property. The Malones had left then, driving by every half hour until the crowd cleared. The last time they'd pulled in to park, the last squad car was just leaving, and the girl was walking into the building with a tall man in a gray suit.<p>

"Me either, but we have to." Evan held out his hand and Chris passed him Andy McNally's driver's license.

"She looks like Marla, doesn't she?"

"Knock it off. It's hard enough without bringing family into it. I mean, what do we even do? Do we have a plan?"

Chris took another drag. "You know what Wes would do?" Evan shook his head. "He'd knock on the door and hit her as soon as she opened it. She'd be dead before she hit the floor."

"I don't know man. He's got this look; like he's not all there. Like he'd do it slow. Maybe enjoy it a little"

Chris put his elbow out the window and stared up at the building. "They're probably going to kill us anyway," he said quietly.

"They will if we don't do this. You heard them. It's her or us."

"I say we just leave, get out of town. Forget this shit."

"It's a lot of money," Evan reminded him. "When this job's done. More than we've ever had before."

"Won't do us any good if we're dead."

"Let's make a deal. We do this. If one thing goes wrong, if we even get a bad feeling, we leave town."

"Why are _we_ doing this anyway? Wes would have finished by now," Chris complained.

"He's busy tonight. They're meeting the buyer. You finished yet?" He jingled Andy's keys in his hand.

Taking one last long drag, Chris crushed the cigarette out in the ashtray, and then took a good-sized mouthful from the small bottle sitting in the console between them. "We don't both need to go."

Evan looked at him. "There's two of them up there. You can't take take 'em both."

"Wait," Chris said as he stared at the building. "Look." The lanky blonde guy in the suit came out, moving almost at a run. He climbed into his car and sped off down the road. Then Chris turned back to his brother. "You want to flip for it?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

Evan hesitated, then finally nodded and pulled out a quarter. "Winner stays in the car. Call it."

"Tails."

* * *

><p>Andy was almost asleep when she heard the noise. After he'd left, she'd turned onto her side; she let the alcohol take over and pull her down into a restless sort of doze. But her eyes fluttered open at the sound of a key in her lock and then the doorknob clicking under someone's hand as it turned. She rolled her eyes as she imagined Luke walking back into the apartment, and then, mentally preparing herself for another round, slid out of bed as she heard footsteps coming down the hall. Moving to the window to pick up her sweatshirt, she wrapped it around her as she glanced out, frowning when she didn't see his car. And then she froze as the footsteps stopped heavily outside her door. Luke was a tall guy, but he stepped quietly, he carried his weight better than that. Even at his most ungraceful, he made very little noise; he was considerate. The knob shimmied as someone's hand wrapped around it and then started turning.<p>

Her eyes flicked around the dark room, looking for something, anything, but there was nothing within reach. Out of options, she fell to the floor, sliding under the bed on her back as the door opened. Hot tears of fear slid down over her cheeks and ran into her ears as she lay there, sure that he could hear her heart hammering away against her ribs. She felt the floor move under his weight as he stepped around the bed. She knew what he saw. The bed was a mess. She'd tossed and turned; the sheets were still warm. All evidence that she'd been there only moments before.

As the footsteps stopped, she held her breath, turning her head as she saw the toes of two large boots peeping underneath the blanket hanging over the edge. Then they moved away and unable to help it, she exhaled quietly. Andy waited then, for him to leave, to walk out of the room, but instead, she heard something thud heavily to the floor, and then screamed in surprise as a large hand reached out for her arm. Instead, he got a small handful of her hair and as his hand struggled to find purchase, she tore away. She slid out the other side, springing to her feet and out the door as she heard him swear under his breath and rise behind her.

Andy blew down the hallway, stumbling a few times, stubbing a toe against the slick floor as she landed wrong, and then she felt the breath leave her as a heavy body hit hers and slammed her into the floor. Her hand hit first and she felt the almost rubber band-like snap as her wrist broke. She pain blinded her momentarily and she felt herself turning, rolling as her attacker flipped her over. As her eyes began to focus again, she took in the sight of the black ski mask, the dark canvas jacket and the large hands moving up to her face. One hand grabbed her by the hair and awkwardly slammed her head once against the floor and she saw stars. Right away, through the pain, she recognized that wet feeling at the back of her head; her stitches opening up. And before he could lift her head one more time, she got her left arm up between his and over her right shoulder. With a quick motion, she elbowed him in the face, and she heard a crack. She heard the howl of pain as he released her and he reared back, hand clapping against his face.

Scrabbling against the floor, she pulled herself out from under him and got to her feet as he struggled to right himself. She was out of the apartment in moments, banging on every door she passed to wake people up as she scrambled down the stairs and out the front door, right into the uniformed cop coming up the walk.

* * *

><p>As Sam exited the vehicle, he resisted the urge to glance around. He hunched his shoulders against the cold and shoved his hands in the pockets of his too thin leather jacket. The watch cap over his head helped, but he really should have worn a warmer coat. Then Wes opened the door to the club and they went inside.<p>

Sam was surprised to see that despite the unappealing storefront, the inside of the place was really well taken care of. The lights were low, shining through stained glass shades hanging over the tables, which were clean. The bar, large and cube-like, was centered in the middle of the room, well-stocked, and had clean glasses hanging from racks mounted under the cabinets. The staff even appeared to have a uniform, black pants and vests over white button down shirts. _In fact_, Sam thought as he looked down at his T-shirt and jeans, _I'm a little underdressed._

In a back corner, in a burgundy-covered booth sat Allen and Bishop. Sam had never seen him up close, only in the surveillance photos given to him by Boyd, but he hadn't changed much. His hair was kept a little shorter, his suit cut a little closer, the fit a little more modern. But his eyes were the same, ice blue, and frosty.

As Weston and Sam approached the table, they moved over him, quietly assessing. Apparently, he'd passed the first test, looked sufficiently disreputable, because his gaze returned to Wes. "Did you finish that other job?"

Wes shook his head. "Almost. Still waiting to hear." Bishop nodded and turned back to Allen. Sam checked his watch. Allen had originally said 9:00. It had taken him the better part of the hour to get changed and get over to the meeting place. 9:53 pm. The buyer should be showing up any minute now. The server came over and Bishop looked at them and then signaled for a refill. Sam shook his head when she looked at him and gave her a tight smile. His head cranked to the right when he heard a phone ringing.

Allen pulled his cell out of the pocket of his leather coat and looked at it, puzzled, but answered. "Yeah?" He cursed once and after that, said only a few words, but when he ended the call, he turned to Bishop. "I've gotta go. One of the alarms went off, probably kids breaking windows again. But the alarm company said they're going to call the cops unless we get down there to check it out."

"Can't someone else go?" Sam was a little surprised at Bishop's voice. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but not the educated, almost cultured way the words sailed out of his mouth. The volume was quiet, but the tone was one that suggested power.

"Well that's Chris' job, but he's not answering his phone." Allen tried dialing it himself, but hung up when it switched over to voicemail. He looked at his watch. "We sent them out hours ago. If they're not answering they probably didn't take care of that other thing." He looked at Wes who smirked and nodded.

"I'll take care of it when we're done here."

Allen stood up to leave and Bishop stopped him. "Let the new guy go. We can do without him." They all turned to look at Sam and he felt his heart sink. If he left, he'd miss the meeting and never get any information to pass along to Boyd. So much for going home tomorrow.

"I don't have any wheels," he said lamely.

Allen looked over at Wes, who snorted. "I've got work after this. Let him take a cab."

Allen rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet and handed Sam a couple hundred dollars. "That's for the cab and tonight. We'll probably be done by the time you get back. Same building we were at last week." He held up a key. "Just toss the key through the mail slot when you're done. Alarm code is 5401." At Sam's surprised look, he gave him an ominous grin. "I change it every few days, so don't get too excited." And then he turned back to Bishop and Wes did the same and Sam was dismissed. Just like that.

He wanted to stay and argue, but what could he say? Another large part of him wanted to put his fist in Jimmy Weston's face, smash that smirk to pieces. But instead, he headed for the entrance, skirting the large bar surrounded by people. And then, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they weren't watching, he hung a left into the restroom. If he was being sent on his way, he certainly wasn't going quickly.

He paced in the restroom, waiting as time passed; waiting for the buyer to show up. Boyd had showed him photos and files on the three guys Bishop usually dealt with. He knew if he saw them, he'd recognize them, so at least he'd have that to bargain with. He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes was slower when you watched the clock, but eventually, he walked to the door, and peered out, through the bodies filling the swiveling chairs at the counter, through the myriad of beer taps, and tall clear glasses. And saw something that chilled him to the bone.

Sitting at Bishop's table were three people he'd recognize from a mile away. On one side, a stocky guy wearing a black suit, on the other side, a thin Asian kid with a bad haircut wearing a sneer, and between them, sat Anton Hill, managing to look disinterested and menacing all at the same time. Sam ducked behind another small group of people and then looked again. None of them even glanced in his direction, and they were definitely discussing something of interest. All the players were listening intently as Bishop spoke and as Sam backed away towards the exit, he felt an overwhelming flood of adrenaline. He pushed through the doors and as his foot hit the pavement, he pulled out his cellphone.

Sam stepped off the sidewalk and crossed the dark street, pulling his watch cap back on. He waved his arm as a cab approached and as he swung into it, he started dialing. He waited a while. It took five rings.

"You need to come get me."

"I'll send someone. Where are you?"

"No. Not someone. You. I don't care what you're doing. Get your ass over here and pick me up. Right now."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for readingreviewing!**


	4. Chapter 3

**Note: This chapter is a little shorter than usual, but that's because it got so big I had to split it in half. This sickness I have to stretch everything out, it's already starting. So prepare yourselves ;) Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing! This chapter is a little...intense. :) And there's a little bit of language.**

**It's dedicated to everyone who thought that maybe Andy wasn't quite scared _enough._ And you know who you are.**

* * *

><p><em>Sam nodded at Shaw as he backed up against the door to the women's locker room. He flattened his arm against it, ready to push it open as Oliver passed.<em>

"_Coming to the Penny?"_

_Sam raised his eyebrows and gave a short nod. "Maybe."_

_Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Waiting on McNally?" At Sam's nod, he smirked. "Yeah, see you tomorrow, buddy." As he walked away, a grin flashed across Sam's face and he leaned slightly against the door, letting it swing open very slowly, until he heard someone say his name. Then he froze, leaving the door open maybe an inch or two._

_It was Nash, and if he angled his head just a little… There they were. Andy was digging in her locker, while Nash was sitting on the bench, putting on a pair of leather boots. There didn't appear to be anyone else in the room, or at least anyone else within earshot, because they were talking. Loudly. About him._

"_So, you and Swarek, huh?" Nash asked, her grin wide as she tugged the boot up over the leg of her jeans._

_Andy shrugged. "What about it?" Sam's eyebrows drew together and the smile dropped from his face. He gave the door another centimeter. He knew he was eavesdropping, but under the circumstances, he couldn't have pulled himself away if he tried. He didn't like the way she was standing. She still had her head in her locker, and maybe Traci couldn't see, because she wasn't actually looking at her, but Sam could. Andy wasn't moving. She wasn't grabbing anything; she wasn't looking at herself in the mirror. She was just standing there, hand gripping the locker door, incredibly tense. It telegraphed all the way to Sam, the stiff set of her shoulders, the slight clenching of the jaw; like she was waiting for a bomb to drop._

"_Nothing," Traci said simply. " It's just about time. That's all." She shrugged._

_He actually saw Andy's body physically relax at the statement, and he blew out the breath he'd been holding. She stood a little straighter, head a little taller; she rolled her shoulders subconsciously, in that way she did. She started moving then; dragging a hairbrush through the heavy mass hanging down her back. "Yeah, well, we're trying not to make a big deal about it at work, you know? It's only been like a week." She wrapped her hand around her hair, making a ponytail, and twisted an elastic around it._

"_Yeah." Traci said slowly and nodded, raising an eyebrow at her. "I get it." She stood up and opened up her own locker and Andy closed hers and took Traci's place on the bench. She pulled on her sneakers, lacing them up tight. "So, what's it like, sleeping with your training officer?"_

_Sam smirked at the way Andy's head whipped around. "You know, he isn't technically my training officer anymore."_

"_That doesn't really answer the question." Sam couldn't have said it better himself. He crossed his arms and leaned a little closer, waiting for her to answer. "I mean, does he still like to boss you around? You know, out of uniform?" Traci's face was priceless; wide grin, eyebrows raised suggestively. He tipped his head down, rubbing a hand self-consciously over the back of his neck, unable to wipe away his own huge smile. _

_He heard a small laugh escape Andy's lips. "It's good," she admitted, running her lip through her teeth as the smile threatened to betray her cool. __**That's it?**__ he thought, a little deflated. And then his thoughts were clouded slightly as his eyes landed on that lip, watching it redden slightly from her bite. _

"_I'm going to need more details," Traci said laughing. She wasn't the only one._

"_Can't I just say it's good?" Andy tucked her hair behind her ear, almost looking a little embarrassed. Which he wasn't sure he liked either._

_Traci shook her head. "No. No, you can't."_

_Andy blew out a breath and then turned to look at her. "You know what? It's fine. Amazing, even. We're having a good time," she said with a shrug and a smile. Sam's eyebrows knitted together as he heard her. As hard as she was trying to downplay their situation, he saw through the act. Whatever it was, it was more than just a good time. _

_Andy's face relaxed for a second and then her eyes grew a little serious. "It's just…" She paused, thinking about it, and at the almost lost-looking expression on her face, Sam's heart clenched a little. Traci's hands stilled as she looked up. Andy was shaking her head, almost to herself. "It's just new," she said finally. "I guess I don't really know what to say about it yet." _

_As she swung her coat around, sticking her arms into it, Sam exhaled and tipped his head up. Him either. They'd spent the last six nights together. And it was… It __**was**__ amazing. And fun. And heartbreaking, in a really great way. But they hadn't had the talk yet. Not the partner talk. Okay, maybe it __**was**__ the partner talk. The one where they talked about where it was all going, how they really felt. He knew that, technically, they'd agreed to figure it out "later." But it __**was**__ later. And he wanted to know. No. __**Had**__ to know. But neither of them had brought it up. They were existing in this sort of in-between place. And he wasn't sure why. _

_He nodded silently to Barber as he walked past with a quizzical, amused expression on his face at the sight of his friend listening at the door to the women's locker room. "That's trouble, Sammy," he remarked with a laugh as he wandered down the hall._

_"Just give me something," Traci was saying inside._

_Andy thought about it for a second and then leaned closer and her voice dropped a touch. "He does do this one thing, where he - " _

"_McNally!" Her head snapped up, and a flush rose to her cheeks as Sam pushed open the door. No way was he going to let her tell anyone about any of that stuff. Not while he was standing right there anyway._

"_Next time," Traci said under her breath as she flashed Sam a smile and then shouldered her duffel. Andy stood and picked up her own bag, and as they both approached him at the door, Traci ducked out ahead. Andy sidled up to Sam, a curious look on her face._

"_How long have you been standing there?"_

"_Just got here." She didn't quite look like she believed him, but she slid her arm between him and the door, around his waist. He let his fall around her back, wrapping his hand around her shoulder. "Ready to go?"_

_She nodded and they stepped out of the room and started down the empty hall, duffels on opposite shoulders, walking closely enough to unintentionally bump hips every few steps. His hand slid up her shoulder to that muscle at the base of her neck and dug his fingers and thumb into it on either side, rubbing deep circles. As they reached the exit and he used his other hand to push it open, Andy's head fell back a tiny bit, and she hummed. _

_Sam smiled at that, at that small sound in her throat, and moved his hand up, fingers in the hair under her ponytail, and turned her head toward him. She was smiling as her mouth turned up to his and they paused in the empty parking lot for a moment, facing each other. He ran his hands down the lapels of her coat, clutching at them, pulling her into him, suddenly desperate for some sort of validation, a reciprocation of his feelings, even as his mouth nudged hers open. _

_And that slide of her cool fingers against his scalp… It sent a crazy thrill down his spine. Sam pressed his nose against her cheek, nibbling gently, or maybe not so gently, at that reddened lower lip. The hum was back, a slow, subtle vibration against his mouth and he reluctantly pulled his lips from hers, forehead still tipped forward._

"_So, you wanna come back to my place?" she whispered, lips brushing his with nearly every syllable. And for a very long second, he got ready to say 'yes.' But at the last moment, he surprised them both by shaking his head._

"_Let's go get something to eat. Talk a little." Her eyebrows drew together, a little concerned. _

"_Is everything okay?" Her voice was…worried, maybe. Like possibly this had all been too good to be true._

_But he smiled at her, pulled her to him again. "Everything's perfect," he murmured, in between kisses, not quite telling the truth._

_._

He felt someone slide into the booth across from him, and Sam opened his tired eyes, shaking off the memory. When he'd named the diner as the place to meet, he hadn't intended on napping while he waited. Ever since he'd walked out of the bar, the adrenaline from his near miss had had him flying. He'd taken the cab to the empty building, walked around for a few minutes until he saw the broken window, reset the alarm, and then called Allen. He didn't answer.

Then, he'd started to walk the six freezing blocks to this place. There was no snow falling this night; only a bone-chilling temperature, and an even more unforgiving wind. Inside his pockets, his fingers grew painful, and then numb, and after he yanked open the door to the diner, he felt them burn as they thawed.

Sam had been here a few times while they'd been working on that building; for lunch, coffee, whatever. But the night crew wasn't as friendly as the day staff. So when he'd entered, looking shifty and unwashed with his two-day stubble and hard, intense gaze, the waitress had nodded to a booth in the back, away from the windows and the other customers, and he'd sunk into it gratefully.

He'd yanked his hat off, flipped over his coffee cup, and a waitress, an older woman intent on using makeup and a shoddy dye job to pass for forty, walked over and filled it. She handed him a menu and when she walked away, he set it aside. Instead, he wrapped his hands around the cup, letting the heat seep into his skin, and waited for Boyd.

The problem was that he'd had to wait so long. He'd finished the first cup of coffee, signaled for a refill, and was halfway through the second before he propped his head up in his hand and felt himself start to droop a little. When his eyes closed, he told himself it was only for a minute. But when he heard the seat creak under Boyd's weight and the rattle of porcelain as he turned over his cup, Sam's eyes flew open, and then focused on the clock. Almost half an hour had passed since he'd first sat down.

"I'm waiting," Sam growled, as he drummed his fingers against the table top.

Boyd waved the waitress over. "I don't know what to tell you," he said in explanation after she'd gone. "Bishop's never dealt with Hill before. In fact, I don't think there's any indication that the two have ever even spoken to each other. They always worked different products, different parts of town."

"No. Not good enough. I could have died tonight." Sam leaned in, jabbing a finger into the air towards Boyd.

"You've got a gun." As if that would have taken care of everything.

"Yeah, and it would have been six on one. Not the best odds. If that call hadn't come through, you'd be pulling me out of a dumpster sometime next week."

"I'm sorry, alright? Our information was bad; someone screwed up. We wouldn't have sent you in if we'd known Hill was involved."

"Well, what now?" Sam asked, his tone growing a little panicked. "That's it, right? I mean, it's not as if I can just go with them to the buy."

"What exactly did you find out?" Boyd asked as he leaned back in the booth, stretching an arm over the back.

"Nothing, man. Just the buyer. And I guess if it's Hill, they're probably moving heroin; but I don't know that for sure." He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and took another sip of his coffee. "I called Paul Allen a while ago, but no one answered. I think they're gone."

"They are." Boyd glanced over his shoulder and then leaned forward a little. "I just sent a couple of cars back to the bar to pick 'em up, and they'd already left. No one's at the address we have for Allen, and we've got nothing for Weston or Bishop."

Sam frowned. "Why bring them in now?"

"I was working a bust across town. That's why it took so long to get here. But I had a couple of messages from Best waiting for me when I got all finished up. Apparently your guys put a cop in the ICU last night. Bashed his skull in."

"Shit." Sam's mind instantly flashed back to what he'd seen through his peep hole. Five figures pushing through the empty hall, clearly headed somewhere. "And Clay Warren?" he asked, a little fearfully. It wasn't that they were friends, exactly, but he'd been feeling no small amount of guilt. Warren wasn't the first person he'd choose to confide in, but they'd shared a few beers, played a little pool over the last two months. He could have said something, or done something when he'd seen them taking him out the night before.

"No one's seen him. But they've got a witness. Says she saw Bishop put a bullet in his head."

"Fuck." Sam tipped his head back, resting it on top of the bench seat. Then he tipped it down again, quickly. "They're hiding her, right?"

Boyd shrugged. "I don't really know much about it yet. The last message I got was a few hours old. I think they're just watching her for now, but if this thing goes the way I think it's going to, they're gonna have to get her out of town."

"If they want her alive to testify, yeah." Sam pushed his cup away with the tips of his fingers. "What about the Malones?"

Boyd shook his head. "Gone, as far as we can tell. No one's home. It's possible that they're just out for the night, but…"

"Nope. Chris didn't answer when Allen called; and he always answers. They skipped town. Just a feeling in my gut." Sam crossed his arms over his chest and blew out a long breath. "Any idea why they took out Warren?"

"I'll see if I can get the story tomorrow, but they're keeping things pretty quiet for now. Could've been anything."

"And the cop?"

Boyd shook his head. "Total coincidence. Wrong place, wrong time. The message wasn't very detailed."

"So, what do we do now?" he asked again.

Boyd shook his head. "I haven't figured it out yet, man. But if they're gone, there's nothing we can do about it tonight. I'm going home. Try to get a few hours in. I've got a busy day tomorrow. Gotta debrief the guys from the bust. And you," he added as an afterthought.

"So, I'm out, right?" Sam asked, suddenly alert.

Boyd was nodding. "Probably. We'll talk about it tomorrow after I've had some time to think, and talked it over a little. We might still be able to use you. They might call and give us something else. Who the fuck knows?" He tapped his wallet on the table. "What time do you usually show up for work?"

"Lately, it's been closer to 8. Why?"

"I'm thinking we should swing by, just to see if anything's going on. I mean, if the building's all locked up, it's a pretty sure bet Allen's gone too."

"And if he's not? You'll have him brought in?"

Boyd nodded. "Yeah, I guess. He wasn't the guy who pulled the trigger, but he was there." He stood. "You need a ride somewhere?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah." He wanted to go home. But the job wasn't done yet. Not to mention that his heat was off; it would be like a meat locker. Actually, what he _really_ wanted to do was to let himself into Andy's and push his tired, frozen body against hers, and hear that sleepy, welcoming noise leave her lips. But she was still on nights. She wouldn't be home for hours, and then when she was, he'd have to leave again for the debriefing. And Sam knew that if he actually went there, actually got his hands on her warm flesh, he wouldn't be able to force himself to get up and out the door. Boyd was looking at him, eyebrows raised questioningly. "I guess back to the apartment."

Sam stood, jamming his hat back on, fastening up his jacket, and followed Boyd out of the restaurant. They bundled into the car and he was let out two blocks from his building. He closed the distance quickly, and took the steps two at a time up to the third floor until finally, he let himself in. The hat, boots, and jacket came off, followed by his shirt and jeans and he pulled on a pair of sweat pants and knelt down by the foot of his bed. Even though it wasn't Sunday, he stuck a hand under the mattress and yanked out the flat cardboard box.

He ripped into it, shook out the disposable phone and turned it on, clicking through the menus until he came to Andy's number. If he was done with undercover, there was no need to walk back out into the freezing cold to make his call and so he fell back onto the bed and kicked his feet, pushing them under the covers as he hit Send. Almost instantly, an automated voice answered. _We're_ s_orry. The number you have dialed is no longer in service._ He pulled the phone from his ear and looked at it, puzzled. And though he knew it wouldn't help, he redialed the number, getting the same message.

It could have meant anything. Maybe there was a glitch with her service. Maybe she switched carriers, although she would have told him if she'd been planning on doing that. He tried one more time, just in case, and having no luck, clicked it off and turned off the light. He'd be seeing her the next day anyway. He held that thought in his mind as his eyes closed, and he turned over, pulling the blanket up over his shoulder.

* * *

><p>Outside, snow was starting to fall and Andy watched it for a long moment as she lay stretched out on her side in the hospital bed. She was more than tired, but her brain was moving too fast for her to relax enough to sleep. After she'd run out of her apartment, Shaw and Peck had been first on the scene; backup called by the protective detail. They needn't have bothered. When they'd gone back into her apartment, her assailant was gone; out her bedroom window and down the fire escape.<p>

By the time they'd cleared the apartment and come down to tell her, Andy was being helped into the ambulance. Once at the hospital, she'd been x-rayed, scanned, bandaged and casted in record time. And then she'd been admitted. She'd put up no resistance this time. She was more exhausted than she could remember being at any other time in her life and her nerves were completely shot. When she'd first climbed into bed, there'd been an all-over quake running through her body.

She held her hand up, the one that wasn't in a cast. It still shook, just slightly. She was warm and safe, calm even; her heart was slow. But she hadn't really slept in over a day. Almost thirty-six hour, if anyone was counting. That explained the fatigue and the shakes. And yet, she still wasn't sleeping. The nurse had offered her a sedative; in fact, had strenuously suggested a sedative. But Andy refused, thinking that the pain killers they'd already given her would probably do the trick.

Unfortunately, except for giving her an extreme case of vertigo that was only now beginning to ebb, the drugs weren't working as well as she'd hoped. At least not in helping her sleep. The devastating throb of her right wrist and the massive headache had both lessened significantly. Actually that hadn't been the whole reason. In her apartment, the only way she was able to fight off the attacker was because she'd heard someone enter her apartment. She was far more afraid of being unaware and helpless than she was of exhaustion.

They'd probably finished up at her apartment by now. When she'd left they were just starting to secure the scene; CSU had been called back out. She closed her eyes again, imagining the activity. The scene of the crime. Yellow tape strung across her door, uniforms banging on doors, a crowd of anxious spectators trying to be the first to figure out what was going on.

Peck had already taken down her statement. They'd already gone through it twice, and in between scans and replacement of a few stitches, she'd answered question after question. And had continued answering while the doctor was wrapping her wrist with gauze and casting material. She'd been lying in this bed a little under an hour when Shaw and Best had arrived. Barber was still at her apartment, overseeing things. Mostly, they'd come to check on her. But assuming she'd want to rest, they stayed only a short while, leaving her with the promise of another meeting the following morning. When they left, they mentioned possibly stopping upstairs to check in on Simonson, which had gotten Andy thinking. And she was still mulling it over as she sat with Gail as her guard for the night.

Andy rolled over and looked at Gail who was completely alert; pounding back a tall cup of coffee. She was kicked back in the chair near the door, feet up on the foot of the bed as she held the remote in one hand and flipped through infomercials and sitcom reruns. Andy peeked at the clock. It was 3 AM. She'd been horribly sore and lying awake in this bed for almost two hours. Andy looked over at Gail again.

"Anything good on?"

Gail snorted derisively and rolled her eyes. "Same shit every night. Pasta maker, blanket with sleeves, dog toenail grinder."

Andy smirked and pushed herself up into a sitting position, wincing as she first put her weight on her right arm. After levering herself into a comfortable spot, she put the cast in her lap, running the fingers of her other hand over it thoughtfully.

"I would have taken that sedative, if I were you."

Andy ignored her and held out her hand for the remote. "Give it."

Gail snorted, but handed it over.

Andy did one more circuit through the channels and then tapped the remote on her knee. She picked at the blanket covering her to the waist, and then she spoke, keeping her eyes on the television. "I want to do something, but I don't think I'm supposed to leave this room."

"You're not," Gail said, the words clipped and quiet as she reached over and snagged a magazine off the table.

"Yeah, well I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, and I need to do this."

Gail put her feet on the floor and scooted to the edge of her chair as she glanced over her shoulder. This floor of the hospital was quiet. Nurses passed by the door every now and again, stopped in to check her vitals, but other than that, it was very boring. She'd be lying if she'd said she didn't feel like getting up and moving around a bit. "What do you want to do?"

"I want to go see Terry."

Gail shook her head with a short, dismissive laugh. "No way. Shaw told me to keep you here, and keep you safe, and that's what I'm doing."

Andy narrowed her eyes. "How'd _you_ get put on the investigative team anyway? I didn't think they were going to pick any of you."

"Jealous?"

Andy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that's it."

"I was paired with Shaw, and he was already involved, I guess. Chris and Dov are out pulling over drunks with R.I.D.E. and Traci's working something with Noelle."

Andy dragged her uninjured hand through her hair, gathering it into a ponytail, and then realizing she had no elastic, let it fall over her shoulder. The hospital room was hot, almost unbearable; and she flipped the covers off, letting the air get to her legs. And then, just to test them out, she swung them over the edge and pushed herself off the bed. The sudden movement caused a lightning bolt to shoot through her skull and a small wave of dizziness to flood her body. But she didn't sit back down.

She exhaled loudly and then moved a little unsteadily towards the bathroom. Andy hurt all over. In addition to the laceration and broken wrist, her scalp was sore, her head was swimming, and she had the beginnings of a large bruise on her right hip where she'd hit the floor. As she closed the door between them, she let a quiet moan slip out of her mouth as she hobbled in to use the toilet and then splashed some water on her face. When she exited, Gail was on her feet, looking out the window. Andy grabbed the thin hospital robe off the hook near the door and swung it around her, sticking her arms through the holes. She didn't bother belting it.

"Seriously, Gail," she started, crossing her arms as Peck turned towards her. "I haven't gotten a chance to see him yet. Just five minutes. Five minutes and we can come back." She sidled over to the door, smiling a little as Gail took a warning step towards her.

"Don't you dare go out that door," she cautioned, her voice low and serious; a cop voice. Andy almost laughed.

"What are you going to do? Tackle me? Beat me up?" She backed up a step into the doorway. "Someone already beat you to it." Gail was shaking her head, lips pressed together. "Five minutes." Andy glanced over her shoulder at the empty hallway. "Five minutes and I'll come back and take the sedative and you won't have to deal with me for the rest of the night." She got no response. "The ICU's a locked ward and there's staff all over the place. Nothing is going to happen. The only question is whether or not you're going to back me up."

Peck glared at her. "Actually the only question is whether or not I should call the nurse and have her bring in restraints." She shook her head and folded her arms. "What's wrong with you, anyway? You were just attacked in your own apartment. Aren't you scared?"

Andy blew out an exasperated breath. "Of course I am. But they're not going to try twice in one night. And I'm pretty sure I broke something when I hit that guy. He's not coming back."

"You're just not going to shut up until I give in, are you?"

She shrugged and sank down in Gail's chair. "I could talk all night. How _are_ things going with Chris and Dov these days?" Gail only glared at her. "Look, if you don't go with me, I'll just go by myself the first chance I get. And with the way you've been sucking down that coffee, it probably won't be long. At least this way, you'll be there if I need you." Andy just crossed her arms and glared back at the dirty look Peck threw her.

"Fine." The word was ground out between clenched teeth. "Let me call up and see if they'll let us in." She left the room to go talk to the nurse and Andy leaned her head back against the wall to wait.

Gail was only gone a moment and then she moved quickly, wrapping her hand around Andy's elbow as they turned and left the room. She quickly scanned the hallway cautiously and then hustled them over to the elevators halfway down. She jabbed at the button with her thumb and then tapped her foot as she watched the numbers light up as it moved floors. "I swear if you tell anyone I let you do this…"

"It'll be our secret," Andy said distractedly, slightly more nervous than she had been a minute before. The hallway was all of a sudden a lot longer, a lot darker than it had seemed from inside her softly lit hospital room. She heard the wheels of a cart squeaking as it made its way to the nurses' station around the corner and felt her heart pick up. Suddenly, bravado annihilated, she was anxious and impatient, and she too looked up at the numbers, watching until the ding came and the doors opened. They stepped inside and turned around, watching the doors close, and then Gail hit the button for the floor for the ICU.

Peck was muttering under her breath as they took the first step onto the floor. Andy heard a curse word here or there, a muttering about idiots with death wishes, but mostly, she ignored her. The short hallway to the ICU was empty and quiet, but through the windows in the doors, Andy could see activity inside. Gail pushed the button for the nurse and as the door was opened for them, Andy relaxed a little; her breath coming more evenly, her heart calming just a touch. This ward was brighter, noisier; not quite so tomb-like. Gail pulled her along up to the nurses' station and quickly flashed her badge and asked for Simonson's room. The nurse raised a stern eyebrow but nodded down the hall to the left. When Andy looked, she saw another uniformed cop sitting outside the room. Gail let go of her and they both walked down to meet him.

* * *

><p>Five minutes later, they'd all spoken, and he'd let her into the room. Andy slid a chair up alongside the bed, eyes moving over him as his chest rose and fell. His wife, Brooke, was curled into a chair near the window, sweater pulled tight over her shoulders, fabric gripped between her fingers as she watched Andy watching Terry.<p>

"How's he doing?" Andy asked quietly, suddenly not quite sure she wanted to hear.

Brooke pulled a thin blanket up over her shoulders. "Not great. They haven't actually said it, but they don't think he's going to make it. I'm pretty sure that's the only reason they're letting me stay." Andy raised her eyes at the tone of her voice. Gravelly. Hollow. Like she'd said the words so many times that they no longer meant anything. Her eyes were dry, but red-rimmed. Andy remembered meeting her a few weeks before. Brooke was young. Not more than a few years older than herself. But over the last twenty-four hours, she'd aged ten years. Exhaustion and sadness was etched into her skin, lines deep around her mouth and creasing her forehead.

"I…" Andy didn't actually know what she had been planning to say. What could she possibly say? "I'm really sorry," she finally told her, knowing that being sorry couldn't make anything better. Brooke just shook her head, laid back against the chair and turned her head towards the window. Andy looked down and felt her throat tighten. Terry's head was shaved. He had wires and tubes running in and out of him in various places; hand, nose, chest. There were machines everywhere; she wasn't quite sure which did what, what he needed them for. She raised a hand, and after hesitating for a long moment, finally ran her fingertips over the back of the hand without the IV. His skin was dry and cool, and the tears started welling up before she could stop them. "I'm sorry," she repeated on a whisper.

She stood then, not wanting to remain in the room for another second. Brooke had her eyes closed and the way her shoulders were twitching, Andy was pretty sure she wouldn't want her there much longer either. So, she turned and walked out of the room, not even pausing as Gail hurriedly said goodbye to the other cop and rushed after her.

"Hey, wait up." Andy was moving faster than she thought she could; the rubber studded socks giving her traction against the slickly waxed floor. She pushed through the security doors and skidded to a stop in front of the elevators, jabbing at the button. She hit it four times, one right after the other, glancing up at the numbers; wondering if they had moved that slowly the first time. And then as the tears spilled over, she tipped her head down. Numbly, she felt Gail's hand gingerly touch her back, patting gently, as if it wasn't a natural gesture for her. Which, Andy supposed, it wasn't. When Gail asked if she was alright, she shook her head, a curtain of hair falling over her shoulder, hiding her face.

The elevator dinged, and as the doors opened, Andy stepped in, not even blinking to clear the tears. Gail's hand never moved from her back as she followed her in, head bent close as she whispered to her. Andy knew that she was trying to comfort her, and as unnatural as it felt, it was working a little. The quick, hiccup-y breaths were coming slower now, and the raw feeling at the back of her throat, the one she got when she tried to hold back the crying, it was maybe disappearing a little. She took a deep breath and then another one, letting her chest fill and empty. Fill and empty.

She hadn't noticed the guy standing against the wall by the buttons. But Gail did. She turned her head away from Andy, and snapped out a word. Or part of a word. Halfway through, Andy heard a _zzzzz_ and Gail fell forward, sliding down the shiny doors into a heap on the floor.

Through the fog in her head, Andy could only stare at her. In some small corner of her mind, a voice was telling her to turn, to react. But the rest of her brain was quiet, thick with the pain killers and the grief. It was like trying to swim through molasses. And then something happened that brought reality rushing towards her.

There was a tiny spot of pain at her neck. Little more than a pinprick really. No big deal. But that hand rapidly reaching out to wrap around her waist, holding her still against a slim, hard-muscled body, despite her struggles… That was a _very_ big deal. The pinprick disappeared as another arm reached out to push at the button labeled LL with the tip of a short, but very sharp-looking knife. And as the knife zipped back to her, a noise came from between her teeth; a cross between a hiss and a whine, and Andy jerked, pulling at the arm that was like steel banded around her.

He laughed then. She wasn't sure who "he" was, but the quiet, menacing sound of him in her ear chilled her blood. As she struggled, the knife came back, a cold line against her neck and she stilled. "Just hold still and be quiet," he said, his voice low and velvety smooth, almost seductive. "Not a word," he continued, pressing the blade against her skin. "I've been looking all over this place for you. You weren't in your bed." The words rolled sweetly off his tongue; like he was talking to a lover. Her mind barely had time to register the incongruity of his tone with the knife against her skin as a hard hand hauled her tighter against him.

The elevator beeped loudly through the floors and Andy's head tipped up; she sucked in a harsh breath as she felt the blade nick her skin. Her eyes lowered again as she heard a quiet moan. Gail was starting to snap out of it. Still disoriented, she was moving a little. When the guy behind Andy leaned forward, to look at Peck on the floor, his face brushed against Andy's hair and she felt it catch lightly on his stubble. Then she heard him laugh again, a very dark, husky noise. The elevator sounded one last time and the doors slid open.

"Move," he snarled, suddenly done with formalities. He pushed her straight-armed with the heel of his hand, fingers wrapped over the top of her shoulder; the fabric of her gown and robe clenched in an iron grip. "You say anything," he said, his tone deadly serious, "I'll stick this knife in you and this will all be over." Andy sucked in a wet, shuddery breath. She almost tripped over Gail's slowly moving form on the floor, and then he jerked her to a stop as he reached back into the elevator and slapped at the buttons, sending Peck and the elevator back up.

The doors closed between them and Gail and Andy felt her heart sink as her last hope disappeared. And then he pushed her again. Or maybe push wasn't the word. He was using his body to shove her forward. The guy was still standing behind her, and his arm had moved up over her chest, his hand up around her neck. His thumb was pushing hard under the corner of her jaw, and the point of the knife was lower on her back, off to the side and between her ribs. Involuntarily, her body pulled away, trying to get distance between it and the knife and with the movement, came another one of those hiss-whines. He jerked her head back, against his shoulder, squeezing a little harder until she cried out. "What did I say?" he asked, as if admonishing a misbehaving child.

As Andy's feet moved haltingly forward, she looked frantically around, and realized where they were. The basement level, where everything was concrete; the floors, the walls, the ramps. There were signs pointing towards autoclaving, laundry, storage. But the windows set into the doors were dark. The only noise was the elevator moving up through the floors. There were no forklifts, no staff, no carts rolling.

As they turned a corner, and then another, Andy saw old, broken-down equipment lining the halls. Old beds and IV instruments, surgical tables; all discarded, or held in limbo for repair. And he didn't need to worry about her screaming. There wasn't a soul in sight.

There was no one. The fluorescent lights were flickering ever so slightly, and his steps were echoing down the winding hall, while her socks were muffling the sounds of her feet. He pulled her to the right and immediately she resisted. There was an open door in that direction, but the room inside was dark and she had no way of knowing what was inside. And there was no way she was going to find out. So, she dug her feet in as best she could, and twisted at the waist, refusing to move.

"No," she groaned as she writhed and he tried to get ahold of her arms. The knife was gone from her throat now. And her struggles were becoming louder. She was shouting the word as she felt him step up close behind her, wrapping his arms around hers, pinning them to her sides. And when he bent his face down close, his breath hot against her ear, she snapped her head back, smacking the thick rounded part of her skull into something that went "crunch." Instantly, his arms released her and she heard a clatter as the knife fell to the floor and a dry scraping noise as it slid away from them. And then as the pain blossomed in her head, she moved, staggering away, willing her legs to _move_.

She didn't get far. A dozen or so clumsy steps later, he knocked her down and flipped her over. She instantly flashed back to earlier in the night when her attacker had taken hold of her hair, and she arched, twisting her head, shaking it, trying to prevent another grab. She pushed and clawed and beat at him with her hands, not even feeling the pain in the fractured wrist. But his time, he didn't go for her hair. He went for her throat.

He was straddling her, sitting hard on her stomach, and as his hands slid around her neck, she looked up and recognized him. Instantly. Even through the gush of blood that had run down when she'd broken his nose. Jimmy Weston.

"_This guy... He'll kill you for fun."_

She believed it. He _was_ having fun. He wasn't pressing or squeezing as hard as he could have been. He was taking it slow, making it last. As the smile wormed its way onto his face, her hands stretched out towards it, fingers driving desperately towards his eyes, but he simply leaned his head back, letting her nails glance off his face.

She couldn't breathe, and the pressure on her windpipe was crushing, suffocating. Her mouth was open, and she was gasping, but no breath was coming. There was a quiet and frantic noise filling her ears and it took a very long moment for her to realize that it was coming from her. Black and red spots were appearing where she should have seen his face. As her arms started to slide away, to fall to the floor and he leaned in close, releasing momentarily, just enough to bring her back so he could start over again. The spots were gone and air filled her lungs, and again, she started to struggle, bucking, trying to throw him off her.

"I was going to do this quick, with the knife, but this is better. This way I can watch you," he said, his unsettling gaze moving over her face almost tenderly. Then his grip tightened again and she squeezed her eyes shut, tears streaming from the corners as she tore at his hands.

And then from what seemed like a long way off, Andy heard a voice.

"Hey, get off her!"

Weston heard it too. His head snapped up in surprise and when Andy felt the pressure disappear, she sucked in a deep painful breath. He swore under his breath, in an almost casual disappointment. As if someone had cut him off in traffic. Andy felt the very faint vibration through the concrete floor as someone started running towards her.

Weston hesitated one last second. He leaned over and whispered silkily, "I'll see you soon, Andy McNally." And then he was gone. He pushed himself to his feet, turned and ran around the corner; and Andy didn't move.

She couldn't move. Not even when the two employees dressed in the dark colored scrubs reserved for environmental services ran up and got down next to her. Not even when one of them grabbed his walkie and started calling for security. Somewhere under all the noise and confusion, she heard a door slam somewhere down the hall. And then she was breathing, fast and heavy, loud whooping breaths of relief and terror, slapping away the hands that were checking the bloody spot on her neck, the bandage on the back of her head.

By the time security got to her, she was shaking. Not the fine all over tremor she'd had after the first attack. This time, it was a nerve-jangling, spastic jerking of hands and limbs. As the guard knelt down beside her, she flinched. Then, she physically yanked away, scrabbling back like a crab on hands, butt and feet until she was pressed up against the wall, leaning up against it; cheek against the cool stone.

While security talked to the two janitors, trying to get the story, Andy checked out. She wrapped her arms around herself and pressed against the wall, but she couldn't close her eyes. They focused on a tiny little crack in the wall, picking out the individual grains in the cinderblock, and she swept a finger over it. The noise around her faded away as she stared intently. Her breath grew steadier, shallower; but still, it came fast.

Dimly, she heard them call upstairs for police and a medical team and by the time they finally arrived, she had no strength left; no fight at all. And so she let them turn her, let them move her, checking her head and throat. And much later, when they got her upstairs, after she'd been placed in her bed, she watched as the nurse injected something into her IV and then, she finally slept.

* * *

><p><strong>And yes, I have nightmares both about the hospital basement and the elevators. :)<strong>


	5. Chapter 4

**Note: I don't suppose there's anyone that's surprised by this, but again, this chapter was cut in half. The first part of this story was supposed to be two chapters, and now, will be five :) So, Happy Thanksgiving. Luckily this means that Ch. 5 won't be far behind, since it's already mostly written.**

**Oh, and for some reason, Boyd and Swarek are potty-mouths in this chapter. Don't ask me why.**

**This chapter is dedicated to Cocobean2206.**

**Thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. I appreciate it! **

* * *

><p><em>Okay. So, somehow, their talk over dinner had turned into cold take-out eaten in bed. Sam wasn't sure how. They'd pulled the truck into a spot at the Thai place she liked, and somewhere between the parking lot and the hostess station, plans changed. Andy'd slipped her hand up under his jacket and shirt, stroking a single cold digit over the line of his spine, right above his belt. The way her eyes were moving over him, burning across his shoulders and chest, over his hips… Finally, they traveled across his face in a way that would have seemed innocent. That is, if her tongue hadn't been in the process of driving him crazy as it flicked out, wetting her lip. It was rapidly making him wish he'd taken her up on the offer to just go home. When she turned her face away to glance at a menu, her hand dropped out from under his shirt, and instantly, he wanted it back. He wanted her hands all over him. <em>

_The hostess cleared her throat and his eyes moved quickly back to her. "Yeah, we're getting something to go," he said gruffly. He ignored the victorious smile that wiggled its way onto Andy's face._

_The food had been forgotten, of course; left to cool still in the bag on the kitchen table while Sam and Andy had quickly done away with their clothing and fallen back onto the bed. She liked to be on top; he'd figured that out days ago. She'd roll them over as soon as she could so she could sit above him, looking down as his hands moved up her thighs and waist to cup her breasts. Which was fine by him. Sometimes, she would lean over, and her hair would fall into his face, and the smell of her would float over him; causing his fingers to flex a little tighter against the slight turn of her hips, causing his hands to pull her onto him a little more forcefully. Which made her laugh triumphantly. Only for a little while though, because after a few moments, that laugh would deepen, stretching out into a moan. He honestly didn't know which sound he preferred more. _

_Later, after they let the sweat cool on their bodies, and Sam retrieved the bag, they sat cross-legged in bed, covers pulled up to their waists and dug into the cartons of food. He chucked the chopsticks into the trash and handed her a fork, trying to keep it in the containers and off the bed. She wound up a knot of peanut noodles and shoved it into her mouth. And then she got out another forkful and held it up for him. Sam smirked and opened up as she aimed the fork at him. He laughed around the mouthful and she raised an eyebrow at him playfully. _

_Andy's hair was falling over her shoulders, covering that skin he enjoyed looking at so much, and so he pushed it back, both sides, and let his hand flatten over her shoulder, the heel coming to rest about three inches below her collarbone. As he felt her heart thud crazily under his palm, the smile faded from his face and she tipped her head, concern wrinkling her forehead._

"_Hey." She reached out and touched his face with her fingertips. "What's wrong?"_

"_What is this to you?" Sam asked suddenly, quietly. His eyes were still tracing over the light blue veins running under the thin skin of her chest, but when she set the fork into the carton in her lap and wrapped her hand around his wrist, they rose to hers. "What do you think we're doing here?"_

"_Sam…" Her voice held a hint of surprised disbelief that he wasn't too fond of. Whether it was because he'd changed the tone of the situation, or because he'd actually asked her... He wasn't sure._

"_I mean," he paused, and pulled his hand away, realizing with no small amount of embarrassment that he was about to sound like a needy girlfriend. "I guess I just want to know what's going on in your head."_

_She tucked her hair behind her ears in a classic McNally nervous gesture and then those hands dragged the sheet up from her waist to tuck under her arms, suddenly self-conscious. He closed his eyes, instantly regretting saying a single word. _

"_Sam, you're leaving." The words came slowly, like she was waiting for confirmation, and his eyes opened. "You're leaving," she said again. _

_He lifted his hand to his face and scrubbed it over his eyes, feeling the strain of the day a little more acutely than he had a moment ago. "Never mind. I shouldn't have asked."_

"_No. It's only that, I kind of thought we weren't going to get into it until you got back." Her fingers were wrapped around the fork again, but she wasn't eating. She was just sort of twisting it restlessly inside the carton. _

"_Yeah." He nodded. "No, it's fine. We'll talk about it later." He pulled a spring roll from the box with his fingers and took a bite. Neither of them spoke for a minute or two. Andy was still working the fork, shoulders tense as she watched him. But he didn't meet her eyes. He started to close the cartons, having lost what was left of his appetite. _

"_Sam." The way she said his name sliced through his heart, and he turned away, throwing his legs over the side of the bed as he replaced the boxes in the paper bag. _

"_It's okay." He stood and walked over to the chair near the window, and started sorting through the pile of clothing that had fallen there earlier. _

"_No," she said as she turned and climbed off the bed, hurriedly pulling on a shirt she snatched up from the floor. "It's not okay. What's wrong?"_

_He was facing away from her, holding a pair of pants in his hands. His head was tipped down and shaking slowly. Every instinct inside him was screaming at him to just shut up; to keep quiet and not push. For once, he abandoned that feeling in his gut in favor of peace of mind. "It's a simple question, Andy," he said finally, turning to look at her. He fought to keep his eyes off her thighs sticking out under his T-shirt, pink from the warmth of the room. He shrugged. "What does this mean to you?"_

_Again, she swept her hair back behind her ears, and then crossed her arms. "It's __**not**__ a simple question." Sam snorted derisively and turned around to pull on his pants. "The way I feel about you is __**not simple**__," she clarified. _

_He stilled then, fingers still curled in the waistband of his pants as they settled around his hips. Behind him, he heard the floor creak as Andy walked over. Her hands slid cooly around the sides of his torso, locking around him in the front. Sam started to turn, but she shook her head against his shoulder, whispering, "Don't." So instead, he ran his hands along her arms, from elbows to wrists, and waited. She took her time, pressing her palms against his stomach, and he felt a light pressure on the skin of his back as she kissed it, very lightly. "The way I feel about you isn't simple," she repeated. "It's scary, and it's strong, and it's way too fast." She squeezed him tighter, pressing her cheek and hair against him. _

_They stood there together, breathing in sync like a single entity and then, very slowly, Sam turned in the circle of her arms and pulled her head down to his shoulder. He threaded his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and pressed his mouth to her temple. "Do you want to slow it down?" he asked quietly, lips against her skin._

_Almost immediately, Andy shook her head, and then tipped her face up to look at him. A slow, engaging smile slid over her mouth and Sam felt his curl up in response. "Sometimes, I like being scared."_

_._

Sam rolled over, the dream burning away as the sun streamed in through the window and touched his face. On the table next to the bed, his phone was ringing away with an obnoxious techno tone, vibrating and rattling against the fake woodgrain. He reached out and as he yawned, hit the button and put it to his ear.

"Yeah." He pulled the blanket up over his shoulder and face, blocking out the light.

"Get up, Swarek. We've got work to do." Boyd sounded alert, impatient. Like he'd possibly over-caffeinated a little too early.

"How are you even awake right now?"

"It's almost nine."

"What?" He sat up, kicking the blankets off as he pushed himself out of bed. "Shit. I forgot to set the alarm. We've gotta get down to that warehouse."

"I already swung by there. Nothing's happening."

"You're sure?"

"I walked up and checked the door. No one's home. It's all closed up." Sam walked slowly over to the fridge, hiking up his sweatpants as they slid down his hips a little. He opened the door and pulled out a carton of juice, took a large swallow, and then replaced it.

"So they're gone. What's the plan?" He wiped a small drip off his chin with his hand and then turned to look out the window. It had snowed a little over the night. The railing of the fire escape had a thin rounded coat of white sitting atop it, and it was sparkling in the sunlight. He glanced up at the sky. No wind, no clouds. Another frigid day.

"We'll talk about that when we get to the station."

"The station?" Sam repeated, still half-asleep.

"Yep. We're still gonna use you, if and when they come back. But for now, we're debriefing you. You're done." Sam blinked, frozen in place for half a second and then breathed out through his nose as he leaned his head against the freezer. "So call whoever you need to call to get your house up and running again, and get ready. I'll be there to pick you up in fifteen minutes."

* * *

><p>Ten minutes later, Sam was waiting outside, hair still wet, half-eaten bagel in hand. He held it between his teeth as he zipped up his jacket, rubbing his hands together for a few seconds. He'd tried calling Andy on his way down the stairs, but again, had gotten the message about service issues. More irritated than worried, he shoved the phone into the pocket of his coat. He checked his watch again and finished up his breakfast before he saw Boyd barreling down the road. He pulled up to the curb and Sam swung into the passenger seat.<p>

"Hey, I'm having a hard time getting ahold of McNally. You mind if we swing by her place?"

Boyd shook his head. "We don't have time to worry about your love life, Swarek." He moved the shifter and then placed his right hand on the wheel. Sam glanced at him, at his hands in gloves with the fingertips cut off, and then back out the front window.

"C'mon, man. It won't take that long."

"Hey, we've got a lot of stuff to get through today. I just got off the phone with Best. He's in a meeting, but he wants to see us later today."

"Both of us?"

Boyd nodded as he turned up the radio a little. "Yeah."

"Something happen?"

"Bishop made a move on their witness last night."

Sam frowned. "Did they make it?"

"Yep." Boyd flashed a smile at him. "Apparently this one's got nine lives. They tried twice last night."

"Who is it?"

Boyd shook his head in barely suppressed irritation. "It's usually someone close to one of the players, right? If I had to guess? Probably one of their girlfriends, maybe a family member. But I don't know, man. He wouldn't tell me. He said, and I quote," he raised his eyebrows mockingly at Sam. "'It's against procedure to disclose personal details about a protected witness without consent and in an unsecured setting.' Like he was reading it from the fucking manual." He turned the wheel too fast and Sam grabbed the door handle as the car fishtailed a little on the ice.

Sam's brows drew together as he processed it. "But we're after the same guys," he argued.

Boyd nodded in annoyed agreement. "Yeah, I know. Anyway, Frank said we'd hear all about it when we see him, but they're not gonna to be ready for a while, so we might as well get to work." He took a drink of his coffee. "The sooner we get started, the sooner you can get home tonight."

At the thought, some of the tension went out of him and Sam let the smile grow on his face until it was a full-fledged grin. He turned to look out the window, watching the buildings fly by. "How long do you think it'll take?"

"Total? A couple days, probably, but if we can get through a big chunk of it today, the rest should just be paperwork, talking to the shrink. You know the drill. You've done this before."

"But I go home tonight." He said it more for himself than to get confirmation, but Boyd nodded. "What about after the debriefing?"

Boyd scratched the back of his head. "Well, we need you available if that phone ever rings; maybe we can figure something out without you having to actually show your face. But yeah, I guess it's up to you. I know they're going to want you back on patrol, but if you want, I'm sure we can find a spot for you behind the scenes in Guns and Gangs."

Sam sat back and let it roll around in his head. "That…that could be good." He nodded and then his eyes cut suspiciously to Boyd. "No more undercover though, right?"

Boyd shook his head, keeping his eyes forward. "Look, give me some time to take care of some things; tie up some loose ends." He took a large swallow of his coffee. "This whole case, it's just a mess right now."

"No shit," Sam muttered. They rode quietly for the next fifteen minutes and then Boyd pulled his car into a spot across the street from the station. Then they got out of the car and walked into the building, taking the elevator up to Guns and Gangs.

* * *

><p>"Oh, God," Andy croaked as she stared at herself in the mirror. She was wearing the long-sleeved T-shirt and flannel pants she'd been wearing when she checked into the hospital the previous night. Completely scattered, she ran her shaking left hand through her hair. No comb would ever make it through that rat's nest. She'd slept on it hard; waking up a few times during the night when the nurse had come in to check on her. But each of those instances had been like a fever dream; barely alert, almost no recollection from one time to the next. <em>Good drugs<em>, she thought to herself. The only reason she'd gotten out of bed this time was because the nurse had pointed out Best and Barber waiting for her in the hallway. That was almost twenty minutes ago. She'd been locked in the bathroom since then, and still, she didn't feel like she was pulling it off; under all the mess, she wasn't finding _Andy._

After her hair looked halfway normal, she scrubbed her wet hands over her face and she used the toothbrush provided by the hospital. And then, very slowly, she pushed her hair back behind her shoulders and tilted her chin up. The marks on her neck were already darkening; an uneven pattern on each side. There were vaguely parallel lines where his fingers had been, roundish smudges where his thumbs had pressed. After staring wide-eyed in numb shock for another couple of moments, Andy changed her mind, pulling her hair back over her shoulders.

She cleared her throat and winced. Other than a few mumbled words right after she'd woken, she'd been trying not to talk. Swallowing alone was painful. Testing out her voice, she attempted to say her name. It came out as little more than a rough whisper. She tried it again a little louder and got some tone out this time; but with an increase in volume came an increase in pain, and she blinked back the sudden tears.

She'd been told that the hoarseness would disappear soon, along with the bruises. Weston hadn't pressed hard enough to seriously injure anything inside. _At least, not as far as my body's concerned_, Andy thought, trying to ignore the way her heart rate picked up at the mere thought of him. The _outside_ of her body was another story. There were bruises on her hips where she'd hit the floor both times. Her head had a few tender places on it; the site with the stitches that was a little off center and to the right, and then there was another spot right in the middle where she'd rammed it into his face. As painful as it was, it couldn't diminish the small feeling of triumph she felt every time she replayed the sickening crunch of his nose breaking.

Despite the sleep she'd gotten, the circles under her eyes were still there, and for a quick irrational moment, she wished for her makeup bag and a stick of concealer. "You're ridiculous," she muttered to herself as she pushed up the sleeves of her shirt. Then, she tucked her still-snarled hair behind her ears and walked out of the bathroom to talk to the cops.

* * *

><p>She ended up in a wing on the opposite end of the hospital, safely ensconced in a large conference room bordered by a tall wall of windows. Frank disappeared while Jerry and Andy sat down at a long table surrounded by padded metal chairs. They were near the windows, across the room from the door. A plastic pitcher of water sat off to her right and she smiled in gratitude as Barber poured her a glassful. She took a few sips, letting the cool liquid soothe her throat while he took the tape recorder out of his pocket. He set it up, and then pulled out his notepad and pen.<p>

And so they began. She'd already given a half-coherent version to the responding officers, but this time Barber had her go over it from the beginning. She started with her ill-conceived decision to leave the hospital room, Gail in tow, and continued through her story slowly. He peppered her with questions nearly every time she paused to take a breath, and as a result, when Best returned with Karen Anderson from OPP and two others, they'd barely made halfway through. They remained near the door at the other end of the room.

She glanced at them self-consciously and ran her hand through her hair again. She'd known they were coming, but the knowledge didn't make their appearance any less daunting. The two new people were very average-looking, as far as appearance went. She was small; possibly an inch or two shorter than Andy with short dark hair, clear pale skin and light eyes. He was taller, at least six feet, a little more strawberry than blonde, with a thick layer of freckles. They looked perfectly nice, if not exactly harmless, but just seeing them suddenly made everything about this situation shift into focus. No matter what happened, this day would impact the rest of her life.

As she resumed her statement, she stumbled over her words and her eyes kept cutting across the room to the strangers. More than once Jerry had to say her name to get her attention, to get her refocused on the task at hand. Trying to keep them out of her eye-line, she turned herself in her chair, and then started sucking down her glass of water.

It wasn't working. She could see the four of them, just slightly off to the right, still standing near the door, commenting quietly between themselves. Finally, Barber tossed an annoyed glance over his shoulder towards them and they went silent. He turned back to Andy.

"We're almost done. Just go over the last part again." She took in a deep breath and repeated the part where Weston had promised to visit her again, still feeling the chill spread through her body at the memory. After her voice trailed off, Jerry reached over and clicked off the recorder and tucked it back into his pocket. "I'm going to get this typed up quick, and sometime today, you'll have to sign it." He stood and pushed in his chair, but before he could walk away, Andy grabbed his sleeve.

"How's Gail? No one's said anything."

Jerry paused, pursing his lips and then he nodded. "She's fine. A little burn from the stun gun. She's more embarrassed and pissed off than anything else." He hesitated for a second, but then braced a hand on the table top and leaned toward her, his volume dropping. "I know you've been through a lot, and I know I'm going to sound like an asshole, but it was incredibly reckless of you to wander around by yourselves last night. Obviously, I don't need to tell you what could have happened."

"Obviously, you don't," Andy snapped suddenly, feeling a little spark of life return.

He glanced at the door. "I just want you to remember it in case you're ever tempted to try anything like that again. These people," he jerked his head towards the group in the corner. "Protection is their job. This is all they do; and they're very good at it. Listen to what they have to say. Try to work with them." He held her eyes for a long second and finally she nodded. He squeezed her shoulder once and then turned away.

"Jerry, wait." He looked at her. "I don't know what's going to happen today, and I don't know if I'm going to get a chance to see Traci; to explain. If I don't, can you just, um…" She inhaled deeply through her nose. "Can you just tell her that I'm okay, and that this was my choice? She's not going to take it very well."

Barber smiled a little and nodded. "Don't worry about her." He paused for a second and then he spoke quietly, his eyes sad but sincere as he looked at her. "I'm glad you're okay. Take care of yourself." And then he turned away, giving a short nod to everyone before he walked out of the room.

As he exited, Best and his companions walked over. Just watching them approach made her heart jump in her chest and Andy touched the corners of her eyes with her sleeve and looked away, embarrassed. Apparently she was going to be a watery mess for the duration of this meeting. She refilled her glass as she took a few breaths to calm herself before they began. Though she was expecting it, she jumped a little in her seat when Frank spoke.

"McNally, you already know Karen Anderson. This is Jill Stone and Mark McBride from the RCMP." One last time, Andy swept a finger underneath her eye and then looked up, a wavery smile playing on her lips. But she didn't trust herself to say anything, so she just nodded.

A glance passed between the four people standing in front of her, and then Jill Stone broke away from the group. She slid into the chair Jerry had been occupying and lifted her briefcase onto the table, tossing a glance over her shoulder. "Why don't you guys take a walk? We can handle this."

She waited until they'd left the room, and then turned back to Andy and she smiled; a real genuine friendly smile. She was probably halfway through her thirties, with a smooth cap of jet-black hair, milky skin, and a pair of thickly-lashed deep blue eyes. Those eyes were friendly, but her expression was all business. "Well, we both know why we're here, Andy. So let's not waste time, okay?" Andy nodded silently. "Alright. I know at this point, you haven't actually agreed to anything, but I want you to have all the information before you make a decision. This is a very serious measure we're willing to provide you and in order to avoid future problems, you need to understand what it entails." She turned towards the table, reached into her briefcase and pulled out a tablet and a pen. Then she turned to face Andy again.

"First of all, if you say yes to the protection, I'll be the person you deal with. You need anything, have any problems or questions, you talk to me. I'll be the only one doing home visits, the only one delivering reports about the case." She paused, raising her eyebrows at Andy, waiting for some sort of acknowledgement, and Andy nodded quickly.

"Moving on then. I'm sure you know the basics." She started ticking them off on her fingers. "New identity, new location, no contact with anyone from your old life. We'll go over that more in depth after we get you moved to a secure location. If you decide to take us up on our offer, and I sincerely hope you do, this is what will happen. We'll go to your place, pack a couple of bags. No pictures, no videos, no cell phone, no laptop. Anything that has any personal information stays. We'll take you to a safe house, where we'll keep you until all the travel arrangements have been made. Usually, we give it about a day, but in this case, we hope to be out of the city by sundown.

"Normally, we'd first have to file a petition for protection and you'd have to enter into a protection agreement with the Commissioner. This is basically a contract saying we'll take care of you as long as you play by our rules. However," she paused, pouring her own glass of water. "Since two attempts have already been made on your life, we're stepping things up a little bit. We'll get you out of the city, stash you somewhere temporarily until all the paperwork is complete and until we get something more permanent lined up.

"After that, we move you. We'll provide you with a monthly stipend, and we'll do what we can to help you line up a job. The amount and duration of the money will be stated in the protection agreement that you'll sign. After six months, we'll review the agreement and changes can be made depending on your employment situation and any other life events that may have occurred. Any questions?"

Andy attempted a laugh. She tried to make it sound casual, but the ever-looming tears were beginning to make that difficult. "A million, but keep going."

"Considering the events that led us here, we'll probably want you to see a therapist, just for a little while; maybe a couple of months. Just to help you acclimate to a new place, to your new life. Wherever you end up, the head of law enforcement in the area will know that they have a protected witness under their jurisdiction, so that if something happens and we can't get to you, there will be someone in the area who can pick you up and protect you. Also, when it comes time for you to testify, we provide 24-hour protection for the duration of the trip."

She uncapped the pen and tilted the pad before looking back at Andy. "Obviously, this is just the tip of the iceberg, but you get the general idea. But now I need to know some things about you. What's your family situation like?"

Andy dragged her hands through her hair, jerking back when she felt the cast against her face. "Um, it's just me. And my dad."

"Do you live together?" Andy shook her head. "Do you think he would be amenable to the transition?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think he'd do okay; would he be able to make the change, keep the secret?"

Andy nodded. "He's a retired cop. He'd be fine. But, um," she said, tucking a few strands behind her ear. "He's in recovery. He's an alcoholic. Is that a problem?"

"Is he in a program?"

"He goes to meetings. He had some problems when he first started, but he's been off the bottle maybe eight months."

Stone nodded, and looked down, made some notes. "We'll talk to him, but I can tell you right now that this change is incredibly stressful. A lot of people fall off the wagon. However, we can work with him. He'd be required to see a therapist, just like you, and continue to go to meetings. As often as he can." She looked up. "Also, these protection agreements are made on a case by case basis. Since he hasn't been threatened yet, he'll probably be required to follow protocol. Which means he might not join you until later."

"How much later?"

Stone shrugged. "It depends on the situation, how fast paperwork gets pushed through. Could be a couple of weeks, could be a month." Andy nodded distractedly and tapped her nails on the table. Stone raised an eyebrow. "Another question?"

Andy nodded, speaking slowly. "I'm seeing someone…" Her voice had gotten smaller. Her eyes were on the tablet on the table, and they were tracing over the marks the pen had made, but her mind was skipping around. It jumped quickly from Stone and this conversation to something infinitely more familiar. For a second, she was outside this room, and gone from this building, searching for Sam's face; for that irritated adorable smile he gave her when she was being particularly frustrating. As the image rose in her mind, she felt a brief calm settle over her. But that faded when she caught the expression on Stone's face.

Stone was looking at her like she was examining her, trying to decide which way to go with this conversation. She took a deep breath and pursed her lip, capping the pen. "How long have you been together?" she asked finally, leaning her elbows on the table.

"A few months. But we've known each other a lot longer than that, almost two years. He's just...he's been undercover for the last two months."

"So technically, you've been together a month." The dismissive tone of her voice set Andy on edge and she scrambled.

"I know it doesn't sound like a long time, but it's a serious relationship."

Stone looked like she was choosing her words carefully. "What's _his_ family situation like?"

"Um," she said after blowing out a heavy breath. "He has a sister. That's it, I think."

"And how would he feel about leaving his only family behind? About leaving her alone?"

"He'd..." Andy paused as she thought about it, then pulled her hair over her shoulder and ran her fingers through it, twisting it nervously, as she felt something like dread settle into her chest. "I guess I don't know. It's not like this is something we ever talked about," she said defensively.

Stone looked at Andy very seriously. "Generally, we only take spouses and long-term partners. Longer than a year. And the fact that you don't know? It speaks volumes about your relationship." She sounded compassionate, but the words felt harsh; devastating. Andy pressed her lips together and as she felt tears begin to well up, she raised her eyes to the ceiling, willing them away.

"Wait," Stone said holding up a hand. "Let me explain. We had one girl who was desperate to bring her boyfriend of nine months on board. They swore they were in love and going to get married and she also said she refused to go without him. We made an exception and agreed to hide them both. And eventually, within a few months actually, they broke up and he left the program. We had to move her, disrupt the new life she'd been building, because we couldn't trust that he would keep his mouth shut. Think about it. The break up was a bad one. If he'd said the wrong thing to the wrong person, her life could have been at risk."

"Sam would never do that," Andy said, shaking her head. An irrational burst of angry laughter bubbled out as she glared at Stone through eyes blurred with tears. "I mean, the guy works undercover. He knows how to keep a secret."

"A large percentage of partnerships don't survive the transition. And we aren't inclined to take the risk."

"So that's it. That's the final word?" Andy asked in disbelief, her ire making her words short, clipped. She lifted her arm and used the cuff of her sleeve to dry her eyes.

Stone raised her eyebrows, and a tiny smile formed on her lips. "Considering the uniqueness of your situation, we're prepared to make a few concessions in order to make the transition easier. But this isn't one of them. So yeah; that's it. I can run it by my superior, if you'd like, but I guarantee he'll say the same thing."

Andy folded her arms and thought about it for a quick moment. "Well, how long would I have to be gone?" she finally asked, and Stone frowned a little.

"I thought you understood," she said carefully, brows drawing together. "This change would be permanent."

Andy shook her head. "No. No, I was told there were different levels."

"That's true, but _we_ only do permanent relocation. Considering the seriousness of the crime, the fact that an attempt has already been made on your life, and this guy's reach? It's really your only option." The tears were back and Andy swiped at them. "So far, none of them are in custody. And from what I hear, there isn't even a single hint to their whereabouts." Stone reached out and put a hand on her arm. "It's only a matter of time, Andy. You heard what he said; he's not going to stop coming after you."

"Yeah, I know. I was there," Andy replied sharply, not even trying to deny the brief flash of panic that started radiating through her body. She put her hands in her lap and rubbed her good hand over the cast, nails scratching at the stiff surface. Her head snapped up as she heard Best, McBride, and Anderson walk back into the room. Stone looked over at McBride and raised an eyebrow and he gave her a nod that was little more than a slight elevation of his chin, and she turned back as Andy spoke. "What about after? When I testify and everyone's behind bars?"

Stone exhaled loudly. "We've been following Bishop's work for years. Let's just say that he's the type to hold a grudge. You could try and take your chances, but I wouldn't bet on you." Her voice was soft, almost soothing, but her words were chilling. Andy raised her gaze and their eyes locked. Stone wasn't saying it to scare her, and she wasn't intending to hurt her feelings. She was saying it as a matter of fact; an immoveable truth.

"Listen," Stone said, dropping her volume. "There is such a thing as voluntary termination. You're allowed to leave at any time. But once you're out, you don't come back. If you terminate our protection, that's it. You're on your own, and you're still expected to testify. And even after that, they still might come after you."

Andy closed her eyes and dipped her head, hesitating for a long moment. And then shook her head a few times, very slowly, not quite believing she was even considering it; not quite believing that she even _had_ to consider it. "Would I be able to see him before I leave?"

Stone glanced over at her partner. He looked back and again, some sort of unspoken communication flashed between them. "Normally, we say no. We find a clean break is a little easier for everyone."

"I won't even think about going if I can't say goodbye." This time her voice was strong, and Andy's eyes met Stone's with no wavering; with absolutely no intention of backing down.

Stone raised an eyebrow at McBride one more time, and then took a deep breath as she looked back at Andy. "You said he was undercover. Do you know where he is?"

"He does," Andy said, jerking her head in Best's direction.

He moved away from the wall and took a single step towards them. "I already put out a call for him to meet with me. He's coming in this afternoon"

Andy let out a relieved sigh and tipped her head down, swiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her shirt. "I won't go if I can't see him," she repeated quietly as she looked up again. Her fingers were white-knuckled as they clutched at the chair on either side of her thighs. She knew that if she let go, her hands would be shaking. She was just barely holding it together. She didn't want to fall apart until everyone was gone. She didn't want anyone to tell her that it would be alright, that she would move on. In that moment, feeling her world crashing down around her, she couldn't see how that would ever be possible.

"Fine." Surprised, Andy looked up at her. Stone shrugged. "We'll set something up for later this afternoon." She scrawled a few notes on her tablet. "The arrangements have been made for the safe house, so the three of us can go talk to your father, and then go to your apartment to pack. After that, we'll wait for…" She raised her eyebrows at Andy in question.

"Uh, Sam. Sam Swarek." His voice came out on a whisper, rough and heavy.

"We'll wait for Sam." Stone's expression softened as she saw the wetness return to Andy's eyes. "Andy, I'm not going to tell you that it's not going to be hard. In fact, this is probably the most difficult thing you'll ever have to do. But it does get better. I promise." She searched Andy's eyes for a moment and then gave her an empathetic smile. "So, is this something you think you can live with?"

"I guess we'll find out," Andy said dejectedly, her eyebrows raised. They both stood and Andy winced as she swiveled away from the table. A shot of pain stabbed through her hip, but she followed Stone over to the door. Best was turned toward the corner, talking very quietly on his phone and when they approached, he hung up.

"So, I guess this is it, for now. We'll take Officer McNally with us, and you'll do your best to produce Sam Swarek," Stone said, looking at Best. "When you're ready, give us a call, and McBride will come to transport him." She turned to Andy. "I'm going to let you have a moment with your staff sergeant. We'll meet you in the hall."

Andy just looked at him as the other three walked out of the room, closing the door behind them. She crossed her arms and then she exhaled. "What will you tell everybody?" she asked finally.

Frank shoved his hands in his pockets and tipped his head down, his shoulder sagging with stress and defeat. "I've been discussing it with Anderson and she said that a simple explanation is usually the best. So maybe that you decided to take a job in another city? Effective immediately."

She nodded silently, thinking it over. "That could work. My friends will never believe it, though. Neither will anyone who knows that I'm involved in this."

"Why do you think I was trying to keep you out of it?" he asked.

"You knew it would come to this?" she asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"I hoped it wouldn't," he clarified. He paused and breathed deeply. "I'm sorry it worked out this way; that we didn't do a better job of looking out for you."

Andy shook her head, teeth biting hard into her lower lip. "I should've known better." Neither of them said anything for a moment and then Andy gave him a small smile. "I guess it would be too much to ask to be able to say goodbye to them too. My friends."

Best took a deep breath, almost as if he was considering it, but then he shook his head. "Honestly, I'm surprised they're letting you see Swarek. I don't want to make you any promises."

She nodded again. "I get it," she murmured as she ran her hand through her hair. "Listen, can you do something for me? Can you tell Shaw to take care of Sam? I think…" Andy felt the tears welling up and again she wiped at her cheeks with her sleeve. "I think he's going to be really upset. So, just tell Oliver to make sure he's okay. That he's taking care of himself." Her voice cracked a little on the last word and she pressed her lips together, holding back the words that were threatening to spill out of her as she thought about Sam.

Frank hesitantly nodded. "We'll all look out for him. You'll both be in good hands." And then he reached out, and put a large warm hand on her shoulder and squeezed it firmly. "You'll get through this, McNally. Good luck."

* * *

><p>Sam glanced at his watch and away from the thick file he was paging through. He'd already been sitting at this table, in this office for almost four hours. Except for a fifteen minute pause to eat the burger that had been tossed to him through the open door, Sam had been whole-heartedly devoting himself to pushing through the day. First, he'd given a lengthy taped statement detailing the more important parts of his assignment, especially the events of the previous two nights. At the moment, he was still going through the write-ups of the almost daily phone-in reports he'd given Boyd while he was under. He shoved the file away from him and rubbed at his eyes with his index finger and thumb. After so long, the words were starting to blur together, resembling nothing more than wavy black lines traveling across the page. At the sound of the door opening, he dropped his hand and looked over to his left.<p>

Boyd walked in and rubbed his hands together, a smug grin on his face. "Let's take a drive."

"No way." Sam shook his head. "I'm going to get more coffee, and then I'm coming back to it. I want to go home sometime tonight."

"C'mon, Swarek. We got a break. They found Clay Warren. I just got the call."

He leaned back in his chair and his eyebrows lowered suspiciously. "Where?"

"They pulled him out of a dumpster early this morning."

Sam exhaled loudly and closed his eyes for a moment. "Well, at least now we know for sure." He stood up and put on his leather jacket, stuffing his hands in the pockets. "So where are we headed?"

Boyd bobbed his eyebrows once. "Grenville Street. City morgue."

* * *

><p>They walked through the main entrance of the building and veered around the information desk and offices and walked down to the elevator. It carried them down to the basement and Sam felt goosebumps rise on the skin of his arms as they walked down the hall. Due to the refrigeration, the hallways always seemed colder than on the main floor. He'd spent a fair amount of time in the morgue during the length of his career, and it was always something that followed him around, coloring the rest of his day. They came to a stop outside the double doors as another man walked up. Hendricks, one of the homicide detectives from fifteen.<p>

"I thought Callaghan was working this one," Boyd said with a frown.

"He _was_, but they pulled him." He was chomping away at a piece of spearmint gum and absently, Sam started patting his pockets checking to see if he had any.

"Why?"

"He fucked up. Got suspended this morning and he's under review." Sam felt his eyebrows go up and tried not to smile as an immature feeling of victory swelled in his chest.

"What happened?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Hendricks was looking at him strangely, eyes narrowed. "He didn't do his job." It was such an odd expression that Sam's eyebrows pulled together in question. But before he could ask for any details, the pathologist backed through the swinging doors. She was dressed in a disposable lab coat and lavender gloves and she was looking at them expectantly.

"Gentlemen? We're just about to take some measurements and crack the chest, if you'd care to join us." They all followed her in through the doors. A couple of other people were standing near the dissection table, blocking the body from view; an autopsy assistant and a young-looking woman who Sam thought was probably an intern. The ME walked up to the counter and flipped on the lamp mounted under the cabinets. There was a file folder sitting open on the counter, near the dissection table, complete with photocopied sheets showing filled in diagrams of the human body; anterior and posterior. Next to it was a strip of labels with a name, number and date.

As she turned toward the body, the men stepped up, gathering around the table. "CSU's already been here, and we've already completed the initial examination. You want a run down?"

At their nod, she flipped the paper sheet down to the waist of the corpse. Boyd elbowed him and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Sam nodded mutely as he recognized Clay Warren, white and cold and stiff, lying on the table. "Usually, I don't like to say anything about cause of death before I file my report, but it's most likely due to a bullet through the brain." Standing where he was afforded Sam a close-up view of the exit wound and the first time he looked at the ragged tear in the flesh, he flinched. Just a little. The pathologist pointed a finger. "Gunshot wound to the head. Entrance wound right above the left ear. Notice the soot deposition and stippling." She pointed at the dark black stain and the peppering of tiny black dots imbedded in the skin around the entrance wound. "Indicates that the gun was pressed against the skin when the trigger was pulled. The exit wound…" She had to reach over the body, towards Sam, to point vaguely at the other side of the head. "Exit wound is lower, posterior to the right ear. Slight downward path of the projectile suggests that the gunman was standing above the victim on his left side."

"Caliber?" Hendricks asked, sounding bored; his eyes were on his notebook.

She shook her head. "We haven't done measurements yet. Just looking at it, I'd say medium caliber…a .38 or 9mm. But don't quote me on that. At least not until I finish my report." She took a step to her left and her hand moved down. "The appearance of the cuts and bruises to the face indicate a beating prior to the shot to the head. They also extend to the torso." Sam's eyes moved over Warren's skinny pale chest to the marks marring his ribs and stomach. There were a few parallel bruises on the upper arm that looked suspiciously like finger marks. She signaled the assistant and he moved up to the table and helped her roll the body upwards a little. "Posterior bruising as well." Sam bend down and frowned.

"Is that a boot print?"

"Looks like." They set it back down.

"Any other evidence?" Boyd asked.

"Talk to CSU. They took pictures and the clothing and items found on the body." She glanced again at the report. "The victim was in possession of a couple of wallets, a couple of cell phones, a pack of cigarettes, and a small amount of white powder. You'll have to wait for toxicology to come back on that." She turned back to the file and flipped through a few pages. "They also took fingernail scrapings and swabs of the hands. Trace evidence was collected." She backed up towards the metal tray holding scalpels, scissors, probes, the Stryker saw and a tool that too closely resembled pruning shears. "Anything else you'd like to know right away?"

As they responded negatively, she nodded towards the assistant and the student and they started rolling the table towards the corner where a large flat platform with a low-incline ramp sat very close to the floor. A scale.

"When do you think you'll have the results?" Hendricks asked as he walked over to watch.

"Well, someone put a rush on this, so the cutting should be done by this evening; labs will take a few days. Now if you'll excuse me?" She turned around without receiving an answer and Boyd made a face at Sam, eyebrows raised, lips pulled together in a silent whistle. Sam shook his head slightly and turned away, jamming his hands into his pockets as they turned towards the doors, and left the homicide detective standing near the refrigeration unit.

* * *

><p>As they exited the elevators on the ground floor, Boyd's phone beeped.<p>

"Shit, that was Best. Must not get service in the basement." As he and Sam walked out to the car, he called him back.

"Frank? Boyd. What's up?" He paused, listening distractedly for a few seconds as he turned and nodded at a young woman in scrubs walking past them. Sam rolled his eyes and pulled his jacket tighter around himself. Without waiting, he opened the car door and slid inside. Even in the car, his breath came out in thick clouds and he folded his arms tight across his chest and tipped his head back and closed his eyes, wishing Boyd would just hurry the hell up.

He glanced down at his watch. Just after 2 pm. A couple more hours and he could go home. The people at the electric company said he'd be in business by noon. So maybe he'd pick up some steaks on the way; maybe a bottle of wine. The thought of Andy soft and warm on the sofa with a glass of red made him smile. They'd tried that one other time, at his place in front of the fire. She'd taken a sip and set her glass down, and there had been something about the way the firelight touched her hair and reflected in her eyes, and the drop of wine that clung to her lip that had heated his blood. The steaks had blackened under the broiler, setting off the smoke alarm before he'd managed to pull himself away from her.

His eyes opened. On second thought, given that they hadn't seen each other in two months, maybe cereal was a safer choice. Couldn't burn a house down with cereal. His head snapped to the left as Boyd yanked open the door and swung into the car.

"Frank says they're ready for us."

* * *

><p>Sam walked into Frank's office behind Boyd, surprised to see the large group of people already crammed in there. Best, Barber, a tall woman with curly blonde hair, and an even taller guy with reddish-blonde hair and freckles. And Shaw was coming in the door behind them, dressed in street clothes, his face drawn, serious. There was a serious vibe in the room. No one was talking, not even a single whisper between colleagues. And everyone had gotten to their feet when he and Boyd walked into the room.<p>

It was an eerily different atmosphere than the one he'd entered into the last time he'd come back from a long UC assignment. People had been happy to see him then. Not this time. This time, expressions were startlingly sober and concerned; possibly even worried.

"Hey buddy. Good to see you," Shaw said quietly, clapping a hand on his shoulder. But he didn't look happy either.

Sam grinned at him. "Is it your day off or something?" he asked, nodding at his clothing

Oliver gave him a ghost of a smile and jerked his head towards Frank. "Yeah, he asked me to come in." Shaw dragged a chair to the back of the room, near the windows, while Sam stood next to him.

"Swarek, Boyd, glad you could make it. We've got a situation on our hands," Best said carefully, words purposely ambiguous. Sam glanced at Boyd. He had his arms folded over his chest and was leaning against the filing cabinet, looking only slightly interested. "Jerry, you want to fill them in?"

Barber was perched on the corner of Frank's desk and as attention moved to him, he tossed a letter-sized envelope onto it and got to his feet. His voice was oddly detached, and his eye contact was sporadic, at best. "The night before last, patrol got a call about a disturbance outside an apartment building and when they went to check it out, they stumbled into what turned into a murder scene. Both officers were assaulted. One of them is currently in the ICU with a traumatic brain injury, and the other was alert enough to get out of the building and call for help, but not before they witnessed a murder, supposedly committed by Malcolm Bishop." He glanced at Boyd and then back at Sam. "I hear you went down to the morgue and identified Clay Warren on the table this afternoon."

Sam nodded, frowning as a strange feeling, raw and roiling, started to build inside him. "Yeah, but that can't be why I'm here. I mean, the cases are linked, but this is a separate issue from what I've been working on." He folded his arms, disquieted by the expression on Barber's face.

Jerry paused and then, glancing over at Frank, took a deep breath. "Sammy, the two over by the filing cabinet?" Sam glanced at them. "That's Karen Anderson from OPP, and Mark McBride with the RCMP. They're going to be helping us out on this. They, ah, have also been instrumental in setting up the protection on our witness." Again, his eyes went to Frank.

_He's nervous_, Sam realized as he took in the stiff set of his shoulders, the ramrod straight posture. Incredibly anxious. "Just spit it out, Jerry." He raised his eyebrows. "I've had a really long day and I'd like to get out of here sometime soon. I actually have plans for tonight."

Jerry took a deep breath and then held his hand out in a sort of helpless gesture as he tried to find the words. But he was struggling.

"It's McNally," Shaw finally said, eyes moving from Jerry's frozen form to Sam's face. He was bent over in the chair, elbows on his knees, and his eyes were solemn, muscles tense as he stared at him. "The witness is McNally."

For a long, long moment, Sam didn't move. He couldn't move. It was like every muscle in his body had changed to lead, and then he realized that his lungs hadn't been keeping up with the pounding of his heart. He sucked in a huge breath as his head dropped a few degrees. His eyes jumped from person to person in the room.

"Tell me you're joking," he croaked, feeling a sweat break out across his shoulders. No one moved; no one said anything and he pushed himself up from the window, and scrubbed a hand over his head, running his fingers through his hair agitatedly. "Did you know about this?" he asked suddenly, loudly, his eyes zipping to Boyd.

Boyd shook his head rapidly. "No. No way, man." He held his hands up, palms out in a defensive pose.

Sam looked back at Best who stood, bracing his arms on the desk and then he leaned forward. "We've been trying to keep it quiet, Swarek. The only people who know everything are the people in this room. And I didn't want you to find out without knowing the whole story."

He sank down into the chair next to Oliver and put his head in his hands. "That girl is a fucking shit magnet, I swear to God." There was a sound coming out of his mouth that was something between a laugh and a groan, like his brain was confused about how he was supposed to respond to this news. Again, his hands went roughly through his hair, and he looked up at McBride and Anderson. "So, what? You've got a protective detail on her?"

Best opened his mouth, but for a second, he no sound came out. Finally, he spoke, his voice careful. "We did, but things have changed."

"What do you mean?" Sam's brain wasn't working. Everything was foggy and thick; he knew he was missing something, forgetting some important detail but things weren't connecting.

Cautiously, Oliver rested a hand on his shoulder. "They have to move her, Sammy."

Sam shrugged it off and shook his head. "No. This changes things. We can keep her safe."

Jerry shook his head regretfully. "No, actually, we can't. We thought maybe we could wait it out, but she wasn't taking it seriously. And now…"

Sam's eyes suddenly zipped over to his and he felt something start to build inside him. "Now _what_?" he asked, his voice louder and angry.

"Now she's taking it seriously," McBride interjected. "After last night, she's taking it _very_ seriously."

"What exactly happened last night?"

"She refused to go into a safe house, and she was attacked. Twice."

"What the fuck happened?" Sam asked again, his voice low and dangerous. His heart was racing, and that fogginess in his head had been replaced by something else; something with razor edges that was moving faster than he could follow, slicing him up inside.

Barber cleared his throat and again, Sam looked at him. "When she was assaulted on the job, one thing they took from her was her key chain. For some reason she had some personal items with her on patrol."

"So? Lots of cops do," Sam defended; the words somehow sounding feeble and inconsequential even to himself. He was suddenly sweating, like he was suffocating under his clothing and he pushed up his sleeves.

"Anyway, we left someone with her while she waited for the protective detail to show, but he stepped out for a few minutes, and while he was gone, someone got into her apartment. She's got a few minor injuries but managed to get away before anything too serious happened."

"Who was it?"

"We don't know for sure, but based on height and weight, we think it was probably either Chris or Evan Malone."

"Shit," Boyd said under his breath from his position near the door. He folded his arms and rubbed his hand over his face.

Sam frowned but looked away. "No, I mean, who was it that was assigned to watch her?"

"That's not the issue here, Swarek," Best said, and something about his tone made Sam pause and stare him straight in the eye for a long moment. But he finally nodded and his eyes went back to Barber.

"We put her in a private room in the hospital with an officer watching over her, but-"

"_An_ officer? Just one?" Sam pushed himself to his feet and ran a hand agitatedly over his hair. "What is it?" he asked, looking at Best. "Your first day?" He was yelling now, but he couldn't help himself. Best was also standing now, arms crossed over his chest as he raised his eyebrows at Swarek.

Jerry stepped between them and Sam's eyes focused on him. "Halfway through the night, they decided to take a walk and on the way back, they were intercepted by Jimmy Weston in the elevator. He used a stun gun on the guard, and then held McNally at knifepoint until they got down to the basement. He, ah…" Jerry hesitated then, clearly wondering exactly how far to go, but as Sam stared at him, he nodded. "He scared her pretty bad, Sammy. But someone interrupted him before he could finish the job."

"So you have him in custody then?" Sam was cold all over; it was like a fever, these alternating flashes of hot and cold. His hands were clammy and he wiped them on the fabric of his jeans as he waited.

Barber shook his head. "The people who interrupted him weren't cops. They were janitors. He took off as soon as they approached, and they didn't chase him. She broke his nose in the struggle, so there was a pretty decent blood trail to follow, but it disappeared once he hit the main floor. We're still looking at security video, but we don't know where he went once he left the hospital."

"But she's okay, right? I mean, he didn't…." He took a big breath, feeling it catch and shudder on its way out. "He didn't _hurt_ her, right?"

"She's got a lot of bruises, a broken wrist and a headache that will probably last a month," Anderson said from the corner.

"You _know_ what I mean," Sam said with a growl.

She nodded. "There was no sexual assault, if that's what you're asking."

He blinked a few times, trying to stop the prickly feeling that was starting to sting his eyes. "How…" He exhaled loudly, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "How did he even know where to find her?" he asked looking back up at Jerry.

Anderson stepped forward. "She was taken by ambulance to the ER closest to her apartment, which anyone could have figured out. We checked out the hospital security cameras. When he got there, he talked to a girl at the front desk. She said that he told her his girlfriend was a cop who'd been brought in after a beating. He knew her name, birthdate, address, phone number..." Anderson shrugged. "She let him right in. Even gave him directions to her floor."

Again, Sam lowered himself into the chair. "She's scared," Oliver said very quietly, and again, his hand was on Sam's shoulder, but Sam drew no comfort from it. "She needs to go."

Sam sat back in the chair, arms crossed as he took a long moment to run it all over in his head. He couldn't take the way they were all watching him, waiting for him to react. Shaw was next to him, eyes moving carefully over his face, waiting for some sort of explosion. Barber and Best had similar expressions on their faces. The two suits were wearing politely compassionate looks, probably learned and practiced specifically for use in situations like this. Impersonal for sure, but just empathetic enough to make people feel like they might actually care. Boyd was the only one not looking at him; he was scrolling through his phone, purposely avoiding eye contact.

Sam closed his eyes and ducked his head as he thought things over. He was trying to slow it down, to line up all the information that had been thrown at him so he could figure something out. Something they hadn't thought of. But he came up with only one option.

He lifted his head and opened his eyes. "Fine. I'll go with her."

That got a reaction. Shaw immediately looked at Best who glanced at Anderson and McBride who were looking at each other. Barber and Boyd were staring at Sam and all of a sudden, everyone was shifting uncomfortably.

"That's not possible," McBride said, breaking the communal silence. Sam practically jumped to his feet and opened his mouth to argue, but Boyd interrupted him, finally making a contribution.

"Jesus, Swarek. You've got to start thinking like a cop. They're not going to let you."

Sam swung his glare over to Boyd, his eyes wild and full of blame. "Fuck you, Boyd. I told you before I went under that I didn't want to do this job. If you'd just let me off the hook, none of this shit would be happening. I would have _been_ there."

"You're blaming _me_?" Boyd asked, a sound almost like a laugh rolling out with his words. They each took a step forward. But before he and Sam could really start in on each other, Barber interrupted, moving quickly to stand between them, voice raised in a warning.

"This isn't his fault, Sam, and you know it." Sam's eyes moved from Boyd to Jerry and as he looked at them, he started to shrink back, feeling deflated. Jerry's voice grew quiet. "And you can't go with her. She already asked and they flat-out told her no."

Sam felt his face fall more and more with every word his friend said. "She asked?" he finally said, his voice held an odd note of hope amidst the disappointment and sadness.

Barber nodded. "She did. But when they said no, she agreed to the relocation anyway."

He shook his head, still unwilling to accept it. "I need to see her."

"Me too." Sam glared at Boyd as he took a step closer and shrugged. "I need to interview her." Sam shook his head and looked back at Barber.

"We're still waiting to hear from the safe house, but when they call, he's going to take you over there," Jerry said, nodding at McBride. "But don't try to talk her out of it, Sammy." Sam's eyebrows drew together in a scowl. "I know your situation, but I also know you're a professional, so just…try to be objective about it."

Sam laughed derisively through his nose and turned around, shaking his head. He picked up his jacket off the chair, and shook off Shaw when he tried to put a hand on his back. The jacket was tucked under his arm, and he turned toward the door, pausing only when Jerry called him back. He faced him and automatically reached out to take the manila envelope Barber was holding out.

"I need you to get McNally to sign those and then bring them back. Her statements from yesterday and this morning." Sam's eyes lingered on the envelope, sealed only with the bent metal clip. Then he put it under his arm with his jacket and stormed out the door without another word.

* * *

><p>He ended up in the mostly empty men's locker room, sitting on a bench. He tossed his jacket aside and within seconds had the envelope open and the pages clutched between his hands as he started reading. Every time the door opened he'd glance up, but mostly, he kept his head down, pouring over Andy's statement. The first set of papers was from yesterday afternoon, when she'd returned to her apartment to find it disturbed. Specifically mentioned was her mail, some personal items in her bedroom, blankets. But nothing had been taken, and nothing had been vandalized.<p>

The second set detailed the first attack and as he read through it, he found his hands tightening, crimping the paper. He learned two things from this statement. The first was that Callaghan had been assigned to her and had walked away, which was undoubtedly the reason he'd been suspended. It also meant that he was a dead man as far as Sam was concerned. The second was that Andy had hit her assailant, clocking him solidly with the hard bone of her elbow. He was probably sporting a broken cheekbone, if her frazzled impressions could be trusted. Sam thought about it. Depending on the severity of the injury, a trip to the doctor would almost certainly be necessary. He made a mental note to ask Jerry if they'd started calling hospitals.

He flipped the pages back and pulled out the last report. This one was thicker than the others and glancing at the signature, he saw that Jerry had taken this statement himself. This was the one Sam had been most concerned about. Boyd had told him a little about Weston, but most of what Sam knew of him, he'd figured out for himself. While loyal to Bishop, he had a mean streak. At least some of the bruises on Warren's body had been inflicted by Weston. Where Paul Allen was cold, yet professional, Wes had the look of a loose cannon. And if what Anderson had said was true, he was intelligent and resourceful, but fearless, almost to the point of recklessness when it came to following through with a job.

Sam read Andy's description of the interception, of the scene in the hallway where he'd climbed up on top of her. He'd ignored her pleas to stop, ignored the blood rushing down his face and was intent only on tormenting her, on finishing her. He'd been playing with her, bringing her to the brink and then retreating only to start all over again. On paper, the words were dry, emotionless. And up until now, he'd been able to prevent the sound of her voice from entering into it. But now… He looked down at one of the last lines.

_McNally: "He said he'd see me soon."_

He leaned back against the lockers and closed his eyes, holding the papers up to his chest as he breathed heavily. His heart was pounding, and under his clothing, his skin was damp with sweat. He realized that he'd been lying to himself; denying how much he'd missed her these two months. And that hadn't changed. It was like an ache inside him. But suddenly, he was almost afraid to see her; afraid to see what this nightmare had done to her. She was injured, which was bad enough, but would she still be Andy? Deep down in that place that held everything he loved about her, everything she was…

Or would Weston have killed something inside after failing on the outside?

She was strong, but she was only human. And Sam had been on the job long enough, and had enough personal experience dealing with situations like this to know that sometimes all it took was one instance of trauma, of terror, and a person would never recover. If she had the chance to get away from that, to start over in a place where she wouldn't have to look over her shoulder… How would he ever be able to live with himself if she didn't take it because he wanted her with him?

Not to mention what might happen if Weston came back. He was smart enough to find her once in a place where most people felt secure. If she stayed, she wouldn't have the benefit of a new identity or address. He'd be able to walk right up and knock on her door or follow her home from work. And Sam couldn't be there every second of every day.

He glanced up at the door as it opened, and seeing Oliver, he started stuffing the papers back into the envelope, bending the clip back into place. Shaw didn't look surprised or admonish him for the breach. He just gave him a sympathetic smile and bobbed his head.

"They're all ready for us."

"You're coming?'

"Someone's gotta keep the peace between you and Boyd." He grinned and then seeing that Sam wasn't feeling it, his expression sobered. "Frank's worried about you."

Sam looked away and tapped the envelope against the bench twice. And finally, he nodded decisively and stood, shrugging on his jacket.

"Let's go then."

* * *

><p><strong>To be continued...<strong>


	6. Chapter 5

**Note: Here you go. I know a lot of you have been dreading this chapter, but it's not that bad. Did that sound believable? ;)**

**I wrote parts of this chapter right after I posted the prologue back in August, so it took a lot of rewrites to get it to follow the changes I've made in this story since then. I hope it lives up to your expectations. I know there are many.**

**This chapter is dedicated to rookiebluefan89, because of her tireless ability to edit fifteen pages in a single day. This story is a little complex and wordy, and a good (read: enthusiastic) editor is hard to find. **

**As always, thanks for reading. And if you've made it this far, it's because you're enjoying this, so...Anonymous reviews are now enabled. Go crazy. Please :)**

* * *

><p>"<em>Sarah, I'm not coming. So, just stop." Sam's voice echoed down the hallway and Andy stepped out of the bedroom, toes curling against the cold hardwood floor. The mixed aromas of coffee and bacon assailed her and her stomach growled loudly as she approached the kitchen. She'd heard Sam banging around in the kitchen for the last hour or so, but she hadn't wanted to leave the warmth of his bed. So she'd burrowed under the covers, finally staggering into the bathroom and into the shower as she started to smell breakfast. Her hair was wet and clinging to her back, and she flipped it out from underneath the hoodie as she stepped up to the kitchen.<em>

_Before she could walk in, however, Sam walked out, moving quickly to the dining room table where he started flipping through a stack of mail. "Look, I've been on shift the last seven days. I'm not leaving the house today." Andy paused a moment and watched him. He wore a maroon T-shirt that was snug across the shoulders and biceps and as he pivoted a quarter turn, her eyes traveled over his body. They hovered on the equally tight jeans hugging his hips and ended at his bare feet. _

_He turned as he saw movement at the corner of his eye and when he caught sight of her, she saw a flash of recognition as he realized what she was wearing. She stepped towards him and he put the phone against his chest. _

"_Nice shirt," he said quietly, pulling her in for a quick kiss. The faded Toronto Police Service sweatshirt fell to her hips and the sleeves hung just past her hands. Acquired during Sam's academy days, the logo had all but worn away and it was velvety soft from a hundred washings._

"_Yeah, well, you never wear it." He wound __his arm around her waist, holding her against his hip as he brought the phone back up to his ear. _

"_Sarah! It's not happening." Andy pulled away from him and wandered into the kitchen. She glanced over at the counter, grabbed the half-full coffee cup, and slipped her fingers through the handle, wrapping them around the warm mug. There was a plate of bacon sitting next to the stove, and in an ancient-looking frying pan, there were what looked like a half dozen scrambled eggs quickly browning. She glanced toward the dining room, but Sam clearly wouldn't be done anytime soon, so she reached for the spatula, and gave them a stir, pulling them off the heat. She divided them up between two plates and then the bacon as well. She snagged two forks out of the drawer and downed the last swallow of coffee before carrying both plates into the living room._

_Sam had moved from the dining room to the sofa and was sprawled out on it, legs splayed at a wide angle as he rested his head on back of the couch, eyes closed in frustration. He still had the phone to his ear. "Look, I have plans today." Andy sat next to him and set the plate on his leg. Looking at her gratefully, he took the fork from her. He started shoveling eggs into his mouth in between arguing with his sister and Andy turned to face him, sitting cross-legged, plate perched in her lap. She started on the bacon. She'd made __it halfway through her eggs when he finally hung up the phone. He'd already finished eating; his empty plate sat on the coffee table. Now, he was leaned back against the couch with an arm over his eyes. "God, she pisses me off."_

"_What's her problem?" Andy asked after she swallowed her last bite. She set her plate on top of his and pushed herself closer so her knees touched his leg. Absently, his hand came down on her right knee and he rubbed his thumb over the denim, slowly. He did it without thinking, like he'd done it every day before that one, and would continue to do it every day afterwards. It made Andy smile. _

"_They're renovating the store, and she wants me down there to help them move stuff."_

"_So, what's the big deal?" _

_He opened his eyes and looked at her, obviously annoyed. "The big deal is that she just sprung it on me and I'm tired. And now I have a headache."_

_She looked at him suspiciously. "So you __**don't**__ have plans then."_

_He sat up, slid an arm between her and the couch and tightened it, gathering her closer. She closed the distance and climbed astride him, knees bent on either side of his thighs. _

"_I wouldn't say that exactly." He slid his hand into the neck of the sweatshirt. Again, her wet hair had slithered down under the fabric and he pulled it out, letting it fall heavily over the hood. His hands were gentle as he cupped them around her neck, stroking down her shoulders. _

"_So, you're blowing off your sister to hang out with me?" she asked with a grin. "That's actually kind of sweet."_

_He gave her a look. "Yeah, well I'm not exactly doing it out of the kindness of my heart." To prove his point, he leered at her and slid his hands down, grazing her breasts as they found their way to the slight curve of her hips._

"_Maybe you should tell me about these plans you have" she said, as he leaned towards her a little, placing light kisses along the line of her jaw. _

"_Nothing special. Watch the game, have a little pizza. Maybe a little sex," he said, grinning against her skin. She squirmed when he reached her ear, breath tickling her neck. _

"_I thought you had a headache," she teased with a quirked eyebrow. He smirked and sat back, holding his hands up. She stared at him, a smile working its way onto her face. And then she wet her lips quick and leaned in. As they met his, __he licked lazily into her mouth, groaning slightly as she leaned her hips into his. His hands moved down to her butt and lifted, pulling her up snugly against him, eliciting a moan from both of them. _

_As she slid closer,__he tipped his head away from hers, just the slightest amount, and she nipped quickly at his lip before she thrust her tongue in against his, murmuring non-words into his mouth. His hands were on her hips, under the sweatshirt, under the waistband of her jeans; fingers digging into her skin as she rocked once…twice against him. The rough friction of denim on denim was starting a slow burn that spread up from her pelvis to her stomach, knotting it in torturous anticipation. And then she froze. _

_She pulled her mouth from his and sat down hard on his thighs. His fingers hesitated as they brushed against the button on her jeans and he frowned. "What is it?" _

"_What day is today?"_

_The look on his face would have been hilarious in any other situation. His eyes were still a little heavy, and from the frustrated confusion clouding his expression, she thought that he was possibly having a little trouble processing her words. "Uhh…" He rubbed his hand over his face. "Friday. It's Friday." _

"_No, the date."_

_This time, the fog seemed to have lifted. "October 21st."_

_She closed her eyes in defeat and then opened them again and looked at him apologetically. "I sort of promised Traci that I'd help her set up for Leo's birthday party." She looked at her watch. "And__I'm supposed to be there in a half hour."_

"_No." The word came out as a groan and he tipped his head back onto the couch. _

"_I completely forgot about it. The party's tomorrow and there're like a hundred balloons that need blowing up. And cupcakes to pick up and a bunch of other crap to do." She sucked in a breath as he ran his hands up and down her thighs, thumbs moving up the insides. They came dangerously close to meeting in the middle, only to run away again as he pulled his hands back. She made a disappointed noise and he pretended he didn't hear. But then he did it again, and she slowly arched into his hands. As she moved, she saw his eyes darken, lids sinking just a hair as his face tipped down, watching his hands._

"_Don't do that if you don't plan on following through," he warned with a grin. _

_She glared at him playfully. "Fine." She slid back a little and exhaled loudly. "Well, I guess this means you can go to your sister's."_

_Sam snorted. __"Screw that." _

_Andy laughed. "Just go. I'm busy all day anyway. We can hang out together tomorrow."_

"_You mean after-the-party-tomorrow?"_

"_Uh…yeah. I guess." He rolled his eyes. "Hey, Jerry'll be there and all we have to do is __show up, bring a present, and eat some cake. Then we can leave."_

_Sam raised his eyebrows quizzically. "Yeah? And do what?"_

_She grinned and ran her hands up his chest. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe a game, some pizza, a little sex?"_

"_There's no game on tomorrow," he complained, and then grunted as she thumped him on the chest lightly with the heel of her hand._

"_Come on," she said on a laugh._

"_I already told her I wasn't coming. If I give in now, I'll never hear the end of it."_

"_Well, I guess you could come and blow up balloons with me." She grinned engagingly at him, a quick flash of teeth._

"_No, thanks. Let's stay here." Sam moved in to kiss her neck and she leaned away. He laughed as he ducked and grabbed her setting his teeth against her skin, just enough to make her squeal. "Let's just turn off our phones and lock the doors and just stay here for the next three days." _

_There was something about his tone that made her look at him. He'd been teasing, sure. The dimples were evidence of that. But towards the end, there was something else. Something serious. Andy's forehead creased as she frowned a little. And then the moment was over and Sam quirked an eyebrow and quipped, "Clothing optional, of course."_

_She rolled her eyes. "Nope. Call your sister, go help her with whatever, and then just come to my place when you get back into town."_

_He exhaled loudly, resigned. "It'll probably be late." He laced the fingers of both of his __hands through hers._

"_I don't care. I'll put a key out for you, and you can let yourself in." Sam stiffened from thigh to shoulder and she raised her eyebrows in amusement.__"Don't freak out. I'm not __**giving**__ it to you. I'm just telling you where I'll leave it."_

_He looked a little offended, but he was avoiding her eyes, looking over her shoulder instead of at her face__. __"I'm not freaking out." _

"_Really? Because it seems like you are," she said with a smirk, as she tossed her hair back over her shoulder._

"_Well, I'm not."_

"_Good." Andy started to get off his lap, but he held onto her, not letting her leave. She pushed at him with a laugh, but his hands didn't move and finally she leaned in. "One more minute. But that's all I'm giving you."_

"_I think I could convince you to stay if I have another minute," he joked._

_She started to lean in, daring him, but then, jerked back, realization dawning. "Oh my god," she said, looking at him in wonder. "You can't spend the day without me."_

_He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right."_

"_You can't." She laughed and put her hand on his chest. "You're adorable."_

_This time, he let go, shifting them both until he dumped her unceremoniously off his lap and onto the couch. Then he stood and started walking away. Andy was still grinning, unable to contain it. He reached the hallway, and then turned back, staring at her._

"_It's not that I can't spend a day away from you." The laughter died down and she pushed herself up. Sam ran his hand through his hair, frustrated and maybe a little embarrassed. "It's not." He repeated, raising his eyebrows. "It's only that in a couple weeks, I'll have to spend __**every**__ day away from you. And I don't know how long I'll be gone. I guess I just don't want to waste any time."_

_He was looking at her in a way that made her heart hurt, and she walked over to him, ran her lower lip through her teeth as she placed her hand on his chest, nails catching a little on the cotton of his shirt. "I know that sometimes it feels like we're not going to have enough time together before you leave." She paused when his hand smoothed down over her hair and tipped her face up, forcing her to look at him. "But I'm going to be here when you get back, no matter how long it takes. So don't worry. We have all the time the world."_

* * *

><p>"Andy? Almost ready?" Andy lifted her eyes from the navy sweatshirt clutched tightly between her hands and looked to her left, eyes touching on Stone who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. For a second, she just stared, still caught in the memory. "Andy?" Stone said again, frowning as she straightened. "Are you okay?"<p>

This time, Andy nodded. "Yeah," she said, throat dry and scratchy. "Yeah, I guess I just need a few more minutes." Stone flashed a quick concerned smile and then nodded, leaving her alone in the room. She exhaled loudly, and her fingers relaxed around the sweatshirt. It was stretched across her lap as she perched on the edge of her bed, and she traced a finger over left side where "Toronto Police Service" used to read. Now all that remained was a random scattering of bluish-white lines. Somewhere else inside the apartment, she heard shifting; a chair being pulled away from the table as Stone sat down to wait.

Andy pulled the shirt over her head, holding back the sob that formed at the back of her throat as a ghost of Sam's scent floated up from the folds. She'd forgotten she had it. It was only after she'd started packing that she'd dug it out from one of her drawers. She turned and faced the large duffel lying half-full on the bed. Under supervision, she'd packed her first bag, a rolling suitcase, with a full week's worth of clothing, her hair dryer, shower stuff and a spare pair of sneakers. When she'd first walked into the apartment, she'd started grabbing anything within reach. In fact, she'd packed the first bag three times, filling it to bursting and then unpacking it, removing knick knacks, DVDs, and magazines. She replaced only the essentials; clothing and any toiletries she'd need on the road.

This second bag was a bigger problem. She'd put in some other important items of clothing: a couple of dresses, some nice shirts and pants for job interviews, and two more pairs of jeans. Also included were a couple sets of pajamas, shorts and sweatpants. The rest of her underwear drawer followed, as well as a few pairs of shoes. Stone had advised that she include at the very least, two pairs of dress shoes (one brown, one black) and another pair of sneakers. Just in case, Andy also tossed in her extra pair of steel-toed duty boots. But now, she couldn't think of anything else to add.

They'd used her passport to close her bank accounts, and now it was sitting in a banker's box at the foot of her bed along with a bunch of pictures, her birth certificate, SIN card, and iPod. Sam's name was scrawled across the lid, and her laptop was packed up in its case and was leaning up against the box. She couldn't take any of that stuff with her. Stone explained that the computer and music player could both be wiped and returned to her with her furnishings and dishes and the rest of her stuff. However, it could be months until her belongings were shipped to her location. It would just be easier to buy new.

Andy took a deep breath and then moved one last time to the dresser. On top sat the small music box that had belonged to her dad's mother, full of her and Andy's jewelry. She didn't even open it, just wedged it in on top of her clothing. And then she zipped up the duffel. It was heaved over one shoulder and she staggered under its weight as she moved to the door, pausing one time to glance at herself in the full length mirror.

She was wearing a pair of yoga pants, and underneath Sam's sweatshirt was a very basic tank top. Not exactly winter wear, but they'd said to dress comfortably, to blend in. Well, dressed as sloppily as she was, she could pass for a college student. _A college student whose entire family has just died_, she thought as she blinked her puffy, red eyes. But at least they were dry. She hadn't cried a single tear since leaving her dad's; there were none left. Andy thought she'd be able to get through that conversation. She'd been lying to herself. As soon as he'd started, she'd started.

She'd seen her dad cry only a handful of times over the course of her life. He'd shed a few tears the day he'd finally realized that her mother was not coming back, had blubbered drunkenly the night she picked him up at the bar after he'd been forced into retirement, and again when they'd had that talk about his drinking, not so very long ago. But none of those times compared to this. At first, Tommy was irate, red-faced and angry at Stone and McBride for secreting his little girl off to whereabouts unknown. And then at the entire 15 Division for their part in the events that had led up to this. But after the yelling, he'd listened, clutching the water bottle Andy'd passed him when his fingers were stretching, aching for a tumbler to wrap around.

He'd asked questions, of course. So many questions. But Stone sat with him, calmly answering every single one, outlining the course of action, and the probable timeline for his own relocation. He wouldn't even consider his option to stay in Toronto, to let Andy go and start a new life without him, and for that, she was more than grateful. He'd had some problems with her leaving alone, with having to stay behind. But he had some loose ends to tie up, and he knew how it worked; it didn't matter if he liked it.

Right before they left, Stone and McBride left them alone for a few minutes to say goodbye and that's where they'd both lost it. She'd still been wiping the tears away as she walked out of his building ten minutes later.

Andy shook her head and bent to snatch up her purse. Not usually one to carry a handbag, she'd selected a large shoulder bag from the depths of her closet and packed it with things to keep her occupied on her trip; a puzzle book, an old portable CD player she'd dug out of her storage room, complete with a small binder of half a dozen CD's she'd burned quickly while she packed up. She'd also tossed in a small notepad and a few pens, a couple of tubes of lip balm, a hat and a set of mittens, and a handful of hair binders. At the time, all those things seemed necessary; whether that would prove to be true was anyone's guess. Also flat against the bottom was a legal-sized manila envelope stuffed with every single dollar in her possession. While it didn't exactly seem secure to her, until she was in a more stable environment, there was no other place for it.

She left the room and wandered back out to the main section of the apartment. McBride was speaking quietly into the phone near the windows, looking out at their car on the street. Stone was waiting patiently, flipping through the stack of magazines on the table, ripping address labels off a few, and tucking them into outside pocket of the suitcase on the floor. At Andy's questioning look, she shrugged. "We're going to have some time on our hands in the next few weeks."

Andy nodded silently and then reached out, taking her digital camera off the table. She flipped open the little door on the end, showing Stone that the memory card was absent and then after receiving an approving nod, tucked it into her shoulder bag. And then, much like the night before…_God, was it only last night_…she walked to the bookshelf and picked up the blue mosaic votive. She tested the weight of it in her hand before tucking it carefully into the bottom corner of the same bag. Everything else she could do without, but she wasn't leaving that behind.

Finally, she turned and faced Stone. "I think that's it." She leaned to her left and slapped at the light switch, cloaking the apartment in shadows as Stone picked up the second duffel and walked out the door with her partner. Resisting the urge to look over her shoulder, Andy sucked in a breath and held it as she stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind her.

* * *

><p>After driving a circuitous route to the safe house, McBride left for 15 Division. Andy and Stone carried her bags inside where they were met by a couple of uniformed officers. The house was sparsely furnished; only a few options for seating in each room. The bags were placed on a rickety kitchen table for a later inspection, then Stone led Andy back to an internal room with no windows. In one corner, there was a small television with an attached DVD player set atop a scarred, beige filing cabinet. Other than that, there wasn't much. There was a desk straight from one of the big box stores with no drawers, no accessories, accompanied by a straight-backed kitchen chair. Against the wall opposite the door, sat an equally cheap-looking loveseat with very little extra padding and that was it. Clearly the rooms were meant for short-term security, not comfort. Andy exhaled loudly and sank down onto the sofa, shifting uncomfortably as she set her weight on her bruised hip.<p>

Stone walked over, flipped on the television and opened the top drawer of the filing cabinet. "They told me they had a bunch of movies, but these all look like cartoons. Guess the adults usually have other things to keep them occupied."

Andy shrugged. "Just put anything in. I don't care what." Stone reached in and pulled out a brightly-colored DVD case, sliding the disk into the slot on the TV. Almost at once, the screen changed from the empty blue to the opening menus. "So," Andy began. "How long do we wait?" Now that the packing was done, she wasn't quite sure what to do with herself. There was nothing to keep her hands busy, to keep her mind busy. She pulled the shoulder bag into her lap and held it tightly to her.

Stone paused, and then she set the case down on top of the television and turned to face Andy. "We'll wait until McBride gets back. He's going to meet with your boss and if it looks like they can get Sam here, he'll be here. I want you to take a little while to relax, maybe even sleep a little if you can. So I'll give them a call in an hour, maybe an hour and a half and we'll see how things are coming along. But, we don't have much time. We have to be at Pearson in a few hours."

"I can't get on a plane without ID," Andy said halfheartedly, pulling her knees up to her chest.

Stone gave her a reassuring smile. "Let us worry about that." Andy nodded. "Are you hungry? I can have him bring something back for you." Andy shook her head. It had been hours since she'd last eaten, but the thought of food made her stomach turn. "Did you want me to stay in here with you?"

"I'm fine." She didn't say anything else, just turned her eyes to the characters moving across the screen.

"Okay, if you need anything, I'll be out there." Stone hooked a thumb over her shoulder and then turned and left the room, closing the door between them.

* * *

><p>The drive was already long, but add in the terrible traffic and the fact that Sam was ready to jump out of his skin at any second, and it became torturous. They'd been in the SUV for almost an hour, pushing through the city during the busiest traffic of the day. The stop-and-go was relentless and for most of their drive, cars had been pressed bumper-to-bumper as far down the highway as he could see. Right before he started to lose it, they'd pulled off the main thoroughfares and were weaving their way through residential neighborhoods.<p>

"Is it going to be you?" Sam asked, looking to his left at McBride. The man was tall, heavy. Easily half a head taller than Sam, and over two hundred pounds; maybe two-ten. His shoulders were straight and strong, and his body long and solid. He was a man who, physically, appeared very capable, and his demeanor was professional, impersonal. He didn't look like someone who was easily swayed by a pretty face or a casual lie. As far as Sam was concerned, if Andy's safety was trusted to this man, she could do a lot worse.

"Is what going to be me?" McBride replied, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Are you the one that's gonna be with her?"

McBride shook his head. "I'll go along for the initial relocation, but after that, my partner will be in charge of her."

Sam rubbed a hand over his face and then the back of his neck. The small amount of reassurance he'd felt was suddenly dashed away, and again, he was uneasy. His eyes cut back to McBride. "And your partner…he's good? He can handle this?"

McBride turned the wheel, taking them down a sleepy residential street. He'd been driving in circles for the better part of fifteen minutes, making sure they weren't being followed, keeping their path random. But finally, they were getting close. Sam was pretty sure he knew where they were going. It was a safe house he'd been to before for another case, at least a year earlier. Owned and maintained by OPP, it was a building used only as a stopping-over place. The people hidden inside its walls never stayed for more than 24 hours, so it wasn't a palace, by any definition. He checked the street signs. They were only six blocks away.

"_She_ wouldn't be here if she wasn't good," McBride maintained. Sam stared at him a few seconds, waiting for him to elaborate, clenching his jaw in sheer frustration when he stayed silent. The man was being purposely vague.

"McNally's no picnic. It's not gonna be easy." McBride just shot him an irritated glance and continued driving. In the backseat, Shaw was riding quietly and listening to their conversation, while Boyd was tapping his thumb against his knee in a rapid, steady beat. He'd made a few comments to McBride while they'd been stuck in traffic, about how he should have taken one route or another. But after a while, he'd fallen silent. Whether he was now just anxious to get there, or anxious to get it over with, Sam wasn't sure.

Finally, the SUV pulled up to the curb and before it was even put into park, Sam's door was open. McBride grabbed his arm firmly, but Sam pulled away, angry and impatient, the man held his hands up defensively as he spoke.

"I just wanted to let you know that we don't have a lot of time. Stone wants Detective Boyd to go in first, do a quick interview, and then you'll have the rest of the time to say goodbye. But we're talking an hour total. Not a second more." Sam rolled his eyes and got out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

The four of them filed into the house, flashing badges at the uniformed officers; verifying their identities against the names given by Agent Stone. The house was plain. No decoration at all. The carpeting was cheap, the kind found in low-priced hotels and apartments; stain-resistant, easily replaceable. The walls were finished, painted a glaring white and the light fixtures were bare and shadeless. They continued down the hallway past a few cheap wooden doors and ended up in the kitchen. The kitchen was as naked as the rest of the house. An old table sat in one corner, with two chairs pulled underneath. Against the wall sat a large black duffel bag, and a mid-sized rolling suitcase. Sam felt his heart catch a little as he recognized them.

He knew Andy was here, knew that she was leaving, but somehow, a little piece of him had been hoping that someone had gotten it wrong, that they were mistaken. The sight of her luggage dissolved that last spark of optimism and he turned away from them, facing the woman filling a coffee cup. McBride reached out for it as she held it out to him and jerked his head at her as he faced Sam, Boyd and Shaw.

"My partner, Jill Stone."

Sam's eyebrows almost met his hairline. "_This_ is who's taking care of McNally?" he asked incredulously. She couldn't have stood taller than 5'4", with an almost waifish build. The suit she wore fit her well, but wasn't doing much to enhance her appearance as a bad-ass law enforcement agent. Her face was young; smooth, unlined. Her eyes were far too large and unassuming; not the hardened eyes of a serious cop. "No. Not a chance," he spat out, shaking his head emphatically.

Stone's greeting died on her lips, as did the smile that had been forming. She immediately turned her head to face Boyd. "Donovan Boyd?" Her voice was light, her words short and clipped. "Back down the hallway, first door on the right." Boyd was wearing almost the exact same expression as Sam, but after a slight hesitation, turned and left the room.

"Wait." Boyd paused and turned back as Sam spoke. "Be nice to her." His voice was serious, as were his eyes and after a second, Boyd nodded with a word of agreement and then turned away, disappearing through the doorway. Somewhere down the hall, Sam heard a brief knock and then a muffled reply, and finally, the door as it opened and closed behind Boyd. To his right, Shaw pulled out a chair out from the table and sat, crossing his ankle over his knee and said nothing as he kept his eyes on Sam, Stone and McBride.

McBride nodded to Andy's bags. "Find anything?" he asked her.

Stone shook her head in response, eyes still on Sam. "She did a good job. Nothing that could tie her to Toronto." McBride nodded and then strode out of the room without another word. She took a step toward Sam. "We have a few minutes. So, we might as well get this part out of the way. Do you have a problem with me?" she asked him point blank.

He barked out a laugh. "If by problem, you mean that there's no way you're capable of protecting her, then yes. I have a _problem_."

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him, unblinking. "What is it exactly that makes you think I'm not qualified?"

"You're a fetus." The words just came out. And they didn't come out nicely. His tone was biting and condescending, as was his sneer.

She smirked. "I'm older than I look. Anything else?"

"I don't care how old you are. There's no way you have enough experience under your belt to make me feel okay about you taking care of her. You haven't done a very good job _so_ far."

Stone stared at him for a long second, assessing him, eyes moving over his face and his stance. His hands were tucked in tightly against his body, arms folded against his ribs. And his legs were spread a touch farther than normal; he looked like he was trying to appear dominant, to sway her. But she wasn't affected.

She blinked once and then her expression softened and her tone sweetened. Just a little. "I know that there have been some missteps in this investigation, in the protection of Ms. McNally up until this point, but considering that I landed in Toronto just this morning, those missteps have nothing to do with me. If you want to scream at someone, take it up with the head of your department." She glanced between Sam and Oliver, waiting for them to say something, but Shaw remained silent and Sam only glared at her.

She continued, her voice taking on a harder edge. "Please understand, I have absolutely no need to explain myself to you, or give you a run-down of my credentials, but let me assure you, I was hand-picked for this assignment. I'm the best in my department. My record is impeccable; I've never lost a witness." She tipped her chin up proudly. "It's also important to mention that every single one of them that remains in the program is healthy and happy with their new life."

Sam placed his hands on his hips and looked over at Shaw who shrugged. "That's great for you, but I just think I'd feel better if she had someone…uh…bigger," he admitted, only slightly embarrassed by how judgmental he sounded.

Stone flashed a sly grin. "I had to go through the same training as every other person in my department. Physical, mental, you name it. I can kill a man with my hands and I'm a crack shot. They didn't just pull me off the street." He didn't say anything. "Now, if you're finished doubting my competency, we can move on. Next question?"

His eyes never moved from her face, but as the fight died down in him, some of the life faded from his eyes and with it, he seemed to shrink back a little. "Why can't I go?" The tone of his voice had changed from diamond-hard to something akin to pleading and she felt her composure start to slip.

"I'm reasonably sure you already know why, and I don't feel like arguing with you about this. You're wasting time," she said quickly as she glanced toward the hallway. His eyes followed hers and his feet started shifting, started moving backwards.

"Officer Swarek," Stone said, causing his head to snap back towards her. "Ms. McNally will have to come back to town a number of times throughout the course of this trial. For line-ups, to testify." She paused for a moment and then licked her lips before she spoke hesitantly. "If her situation hasn't changed, I'd be willing to work with you during those times. Possibly arrange a meeting. But it depends on the progress made in the investigation. It could be a while; months or longer."

His eyes narrowed a little, and he turned to face her. "What do you mean, 'her situation'?"

Stone looked him straight in the eye. "I mean if her feelings haven't changed," she said honestly.

"You mean if she hasn't met anyone new," he realized, suddenly feeling cold along the entire length of his body.

She raised a confirmatory eyebrow. "Witnesses are encouraged to meet people, to immerse themselves. It's a lonely life otherwise. You should prepare yourself for that reality." He only stared at her, open-mouthed in disbelief. "And it's also possible that _you_ might meet someone. One never can tell."

Sam glared at her, hearing only the roaring of his blood through his ears and he took an angry step forward, raising a finger to hammer a point home, but Shaw was on his feet and grabbed his shoulder, gripping it hard, keeping him in place. Oliver moved between them, dancing to the side when Sam tried to step around him.

"If feelings _haven't_ changed," Stone went on, looking at him with wide eyes, "then we'll talk. But this option only exists if you play our game. If you fight me on this, I'll keep her so tightly locked away that you'd be lucky to catch a glimpse of her moving from the car to the courthouse." She wasn't bluffing, he could tell. She spoke in a soft, controlled voice. It would have sounded almost congenial if it hadn't been for the words. The muscles in his face tightened, brows lowering over narrowed eyes. But Stone went on. "I'm not saying this to piss you off, or to make trouble. But I want you to realize that my _only_ concern is that girl in there. I care _only _about keeping her alive and keeping her safe. That is my _only_ job. Any interference from outside parties, or deviation from the plan puts her life at risk, and I won't allow it."

His hands were squeezed tightly into fists pressed against his thighs and he looked like he was ready to break her in half. "Are you done yet?" he snarled. But it was mostly bravado, and they both knew it. She had him over a barrel.

"For now." Stone turned her back to him, indicating she felt no fear at all; she was not intimidated by him whatsoever. "You should go." She picked up her coffee and took a sip. "Like I said," she threw over her shoulder. "You're wasting time."

Sam stood there for another long moment, struggling to keep himself in check, and then slowly, backed out of the room. He turned as his foot hit the carpeted hallway and then he was striding purposefully towards the door, leaving Shaw and Stone alone in the kitchen.

* * *

><p>Sam put his hand on the knob and it turned easily, swinging open when he gave it a little push. He barely had a second to take in the appearance of the room. It was as generic as he could have imagined; white walls, no windows. A cheap lamp stood in the corner of the room, and sandwiched between two garage sale end tables was an uncomfortable-looking love seat with wooden arms, standard doctor's office fare. And on that love seat, sat Andy. At the sight of her, he felt something inside him crumble and he tightened his grip on the door knob.<p>

Boyd was perched on a straight backed chair pulled up close and they were speaking quietly. But when she heard the door, her eyes jumped at the sound and landed on him and she was off the couch in a shot. She came to her feet in front of Boyd and he looked over his shoulder at Swarek.

"We're not done yet."

"I don't care. Get out," Sam growled.

"Swarek," Boyd said, his tone slightly annoyed; a warning.

"McNally," Sam said, his expression changing from stern to warm the second his eyes hit hers. "Is there anything he needs to know that you haven't already told Jerry?"

She pressed her lips together and shook her head, holding back a smile. "No."

"Then get out," Sam said again and Boyd narrowed his eyes. But he stood, pushing the chair out of the way angrily as he moved from Andy to the door.

They waited until he'd closed the door behind him and then they were both moving. Sam reached her in two strides and her arms immediately encircled his waist. He held her to him, one arm tight behind her shoulders, and his other hand thrust deep into the mess of her hair. Andy's face was pressed up against his neck and at the sound of her wet shuddery breath, his eyes closed and he pressed his mouth to her ear.

"Easy," he whispered. "It's okay. It's going to be okay." Somewhere out in the hall, someone grazed the wall. It was a dry sliding noise that ended almost as soon as it began, but Andy stiffened in his arms. She pulled back, face turning towards the sound, her eyes widening slightly in alarm. While the noise didn't return, she continued to stare over his shoulder, waiting. She did it unconsciously, a simple basic response to stimuli, but it was the reaction of a startled animal, not a well-adjusted adult. Sam took a deep breath, obvious concern shining out of his eyes. He reached out and cradled her jaw in his hand, smoothing his thumb over her cheekbone.

"Andy, are you alright?" She looked at him and at the sound of his voice, the frantic light in her eyes dimmed a little and some of the tension went out of her shoulders. Then she sucked in a deep breath and exhaled, giving him a wavery smile.

"I've had better days." She was trying to joke, to keep it light, but the laugh that followed wasn't even half-strength.

"Seriously," he muttered. Her eyes fell to a spot on his shirt, and her fingers followed, touching a small stain he'd inadvertently earned during lunch. "Andy," he said quietly. "We don't have a lot of time." She took another breath and nodded.

"I'm sore, but I'm okay." The sound of her voice was doing strange things to heart. Sam had waited two long months to stand in the same room with her again and hear her say his name, to hear her laugh again. But her voice was raspy and strained; like it hurt to talk.

Her eyes were wet and he touched her face again, fingers brushing very gently over her skin. "You can cry, McNally. No one's going to think any less of you."

But she shook her head firmly. "I don't want to waste any more time crying. I've been doing it all day." Her eyes were on his, burning hotly as they stared into him, and he leaned in to kiss her. But as his hands tightened in her hair, she gasped in pain and he released his hold on her, taking a step back.

"Where are you hurt?" he asked softly, and watched as she gingerly touched the back of her head, then pulled up her sleeve to display her cast. And then finally, she glanced away nervously and tugged the neck of her sweatshirt down. Using both hands, he pushed her hair back over her shoulders and folded down the hood, revealing the mottled purple bruises still darkening on her skin.

As his eyes fell on them, Sam's hands froze, still curled in the hood of her shirt, and every muscle in his body went tight. "Right here, huh?" It was a stupid question. It was obvious where it hurt. But he said it because he didn't want to say the words that were actually coming to mind. Dark, violent words that would only intensify the terror of the memories. His voice was quiet, barely controlling the rush of fury that coursed through him. His thumb brushed ever so slightly around the edge of the discoloration and she nodded.

"Mostly when I talk." This time her laugh was a little more believable. "I also have one on my ass the size of a grapefruit. It's kind of a toss-up which is worse at this point," she said as she shifted her weight to the other leg. He let go of the hood and rubbed his hands over her shoulders in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. But he couldn't move his eyes from her throat. He took a step to his right and they sat down, Andy on the love seat, and he in the chair Boyd had vacated. His knees pushed between hers in that familiar way, resting against the insides of her thighs and she whispered his name. His gaze flew from the bruises on her neck to her eyes.

Andy could practically feel the rage vibrating in the air between them. His face was dark, his lips twisted in a grimace as he tipped his head down and shook it, trying to push down the anger. But it filled him from top to bottom and along with it was an irrational guilt because he hadn't been there to stop it.

Andy watched him, watched him press his lips together angrily and she leaned forward. She murmured his name, sliding her hand behind his neck, and pulled him to her. Suddenly finding herself wanting to comfort _him_, she gave him her mouth, losing herself for a small moment in the delicious slide of his lips against hers. He groaned at the contact, feeling the familiar flash of heat move through his body as he tipped his head to the side, and her teeth grazed his lower lip. But all too soon, he pulled away and when she leaned into him again, he took her by the shoulders and held her at arm's length.

"We need to talk about this." His voice was as serious and sad as a funeral and she searched his face for a moment. She'd never seen him look like this. There had been many times when he'd been worried about her, frantic even, but nothing quite touched the magnitude of the sorrow she saw reflected in his eyes. And then she felt herself start to fall apart again. She brought the cuff of her sleeve up to dab at her eyes.

For a second, as she stared at him, Sam thought she was going burst into tears right in front of him. For the first time, he noticed how stressed she looked; how drawn and tight her face was. She looked small, swallowed up in a pair of stretchy pants and a large hooded sweatshirt he recognized as one he'd given her months before. He felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight of her slim fingers peeking out of the cuffs as she wrapped her arms around herself. "Andy, tell me what happened," he said quietly. He knew of course. He'd read her statements; her words. But he felt like he needed to hear her say it, to know from the sound of her voice how it had been for her. As if by knowing, he could bear some of the weight.

She shook her head as her teeth worried at her lower lip. As she looked down, she started talking, haltingly at first. But as she moved through the events, she picked up speed and the hoarseness of her voice did nothing to hamper her volume as it rose with every passing minute.

She glossed over the part with Weston. He knew it as well as she did, but didn't say anything; didn't push her. The widening of her eyes and the way her fingers clutched at the fabric of the sweatshirt was indication enough that it'd been bad; that he'd terrified her. Sam was busy thinking about what he'd do to the guy if he ever got ten minutes alone with him and didn't really hear her when she tried to get his attention. She said his name again, and this time, he lifted his head.

"Sam, I don't know if I can do this. Not alone." It was the first actual acknowledgement that she was truly leaving and he struggled to keep his expression neutral.

"Do you know where they're taking you?"

She shook her head. "They said they'd tell me once we were out of town."

He frowned and ran his palms up and down her thighs slowly, only stopping when her unbroken left hand slid over one of his. He laced their fingers together. "What about your dad?" he asked roughly.

"He's coming, but it might be a while. They said they have to follow protocol and file the papers first, since no threat has been made against him. It could take a month."

Sam smiled a little, trying to be reassuring. "A month isn't a long time, McNally." He was lying, of course. Under certain circumstances, a month could seem like forever.

"Yes, it is." The rawness of her voice was what caught him; the absoluteness of her statement. There were tears in her eyes again. And though he knew it was wrong, his smile widened as he realized that their time apart had been just as hard on her as it had been on him.

He tipped his head towards her, kissing her once as his hand stroked over her jaw. And when he pulled back, his mouth barely a breath away, he heard her whisper, "I want you to come with me." He froze and then, after a beat, pulled away and looked down at their fingers twined together on her knee.

This time, the smile was harder to come by. "Are you asking me to run away with you, McNally?" Sam tried a laugh. He was going for nonchalant. He failed. Instead, it came out unsteadily, half-shocked and half-defeated.

She gave him a watery smile. "Yeah. I guess I am."

He shook his head as he ran his free hand over his face in pure frustration. "They won't let me," he said simply with a shrug.

"But you would if you could?" Her eyes were wet, but steady and unblinking, and after staring into them a long moment, he nodded. "So, why don't I bag this whole witness protection thing and let's just leave. We'll go somewhere and hide out." He tilted his head back, frowning, and for a second, it looked to Andy like he was considering it.

"For how long?" he finally asked quietly, wondering how much thought she'd actually given the idea.

"As long as it takes," she answered, eyes blinking rapidly as the plan unfolded in her head. They could go back to his place and pack him up a couple of bags and throw them in back of his truck with hers and just drive, as far and as fast as they could. It wouldn't be hard.

He moved his head negatively. "Andy, if these guys are after you, they're not going to stop. And Stone and McBride…" He took a deep breath through his nose, almost unwilling to admit it. "They're far more capable of protecting you than we are; than I am," he finished guiltily.

"Sam," she said, and this time, the strength that had been present in her voice since he'd walked in was gone, replaced by something hollow and lost-sounding. Her eyes were wide and bright and as they stared into his, he felt a little part of him start to slide. "I'm scared. I've never had to do anything like this by myself."

He shook his head, pressing his lips together. It was taking everything he had to not give in; to not just take her away and hope for the best. "We don't have the resources," he said raggedly; ever practical. "We don't have anywhere to go, or fake ID's or the money it would take to pull this off. We can't do it."

"Then I'm not going," she said, her voice shaky but determined. She leaned in to him, pressing her face against his, her mouth brushing against his skin as she spoke. "I won't go if I have to go without you."

He pulled back and gripped her upper arms firmly, narrowing his eyes. "Yes, you _will_," he said sternly. "You're doing it. This option is here to give you a _chance._" She shook her head and as he watched, her eyes filled with tears. "Andy,' he said. "You're gonna be fine. They're gonna take care of you."

"No one will know where I am," she said, her voice threatening to break. "What if something happens to me and no one knows where I am?" The abject despair in her voice was ruining him. Completely ripping him to shreds. "And what if we never see each other again?" She wiped the cuff of her sweatshirt across her eyes and nose. "Did you even think about that?" she asked accusingly. "Don't you even care?"

"Of course I care," Sam almost spat out, giving her a little shake. "How could you think I wouldn't care?" Andy ripped her arms out of his grasp and then bent over, elbows on his knees, face in her hands as she finally broke down. He laid his hand on her hair and she slapped it away with an angry, choked-up snarl. Then he put both hands on her head and smoothed her hair down over her ears. He pressed his mouth to the top of her head, stroking his thumbs slowly down over the sides of her face as he let her cry. He closed his own eyes against the stinging that had started. It wouldn't do either of them any good if he lost it. While her shoulders heaved, he breathed deeply, struggling to keep it together. After a couple of minutes, Sam tipped her face up and she reached for him, burying her red, tear-streaked face in his shoulder while her breathing evened out.

Stone had told him to play by the rules; to have faith in the system and wait it out. But he knew he couldn't wait months for what would ultimately turn out to be a chaperoned visit in a lawyer's office. That feeling in his gut was screaming at him to do something. He shook his head, arguing with himself even as he opened his mouth to say it.

Behind them, there were noises in the hall. People were walking past the door. He glanced over his shoulder and then slid forward in his chair, and her head lifted from him. She sucked in a breath and scooted back on the couch, eyes meeting his.

He was deadly serious as he looked at her. "Andy," he whispered. "This is not the last time we're going to see each other." Her face started to crumple again and he reached out and held her jaw in his palm. "It's_ not_. You're gonna have to trust me on that. But you can't call. Do you understand what I'm saying?" She had her eyes down and she nodded. "Look at me," he said sharply and her head came up. "You can't _call_ me. If you call, someone could track the number and find you. Do you know what I'm saying?" he asked again, his eyes wide as they stared into hers. At first she just sniffled and shrugged. And then he gripped her shoulders and raised his eyebrows, trying desperately to telegraph the message. And then she got it.

He was still talking as she nodded. "No one can know your address," he said slowly. "Not even your town, or your province." He looked at her again with the same expression as before, trying to make her understand, and she nodded. "Just…" He paused as he exhaled loudly. "Just give it some time. Get settled." He put his hands on her knees and flexed his fingers. "I promise, after a while," his eyes went to hers again, widening meaningfully. "After a while, things won't be so bad." She only nodded, gaze sliding away. "Now, say it back to me."

She took a deep breath and then met his eyes directly, never breaking contact. "I can't call. Not work, not your cell." He shook his head, and gestured with his hand, encouraging her to continue. "And I can't let anyone find out where I am, where I live. I have to be smart." She bit her lip and blinked once at him before she said the last part. "I have to find another way."

He closed his eyes and then after a moment nodded, both relieved and angry at himself. He gripped her hand hard and the smile that was starting to move across her face faded a little. "Only if it gets bad, McNally. Only if you can't stand it anymore."

"I already can't stand it," she said miserably as she watched him.

He blew out a breath and then closed his eyes briefly and then went on. "I don't know what'll happen if you do, but…"

She leaned in and kissed him, surprising him. He splayed his hand over the back of her neck and held her mouth to his, feeling it open a little.

There came an abrupt knock at the door and they both jumped out of their seats nervously. Stone stuck her head in. "You've only got a few minutes left. We need to get her ready to go." Then she stepped out again and closed the door behind her. They stood there together, less than a foot apart, hearts still pounding.

Their eyes met after a moment and then Sam lifted his arms and Andy leaned into them, her forehead tipping down against his shoulder. One arm was across her shoulders and the other was around her waist, holding her hard against him as his head bent next to hers. He was whispering to her, telling her everything would be ok, that it wasn't forever. And he was whispering other things; things he didn't want anyone else in the building to hear. How he'd see her again, how he needed her to take care of herself, to keep herself safe no matter what.

Her hands clutched at his jacket, and the smell of him surrounded her. She wished she could bring it with her, that scent of leather and soap and _Sam_, to calm her and remind her of the moments they'd shared together before this whole mess had occurred. And then there was another knock. They stiffened, but it was just a warning; no one entered the room. Andy pulled away anyway. She tilted her head back and looked at him.

"There's some stuff at my apartment. A box with your name on it. I didn't want it to get thrown away, like I never existed. But I thought you'd know what to do with it." He nodded at her and he leaned in to kiss her again, but she dodged him at the last moment.

"What were you going to tell me?" she asked suddenly, and he looked at her puzzled. "That night on the phone. You said you wanted to tell me something, but you wanted to do it in person." She shrugged. "This is probably the only chance you're going to get."

His mouth opened, and a harsh, rough breath came out as he stared at her, and then he reached up, taking her face in his hands. "I wanted to tell you that I love you."

A short breathy laugh escaped her lips as she looked at him. "You know, you could have said that over the phone."

He grinned, a quick flash of dimples. "And risk you hanging up on me? I don't think so."

"Well, you could have said it before you went undercover," she argued, her smile genuine and growing. It was the first time she'd really smiled in two days.

He was looking at her seriously, hesitating. But then he decided that if there were ever a time to just lay it all out there, it was _this_ time . "I would have told you a year ago, if I'd known you wanted to hear it."

Her eyes were suddenly lit with a little flicker of surprise. "I wanted to hear it," she replied quietly.

His thumbs stroked along her jaw and he nodded. "Well, I'm telling you now. Even if it is shitty timing." He flashed a quick smile, although he couldn't have felt less like smiling.

Her arms tightened around his back and she turned her face a little, pressing a kiss into his hand. Her eyes met his and she squinted at him playfully. "I guess I love you, too." He smiled and exhaled loudly. "And this is _not_ the last time we're going to see each other," she said, repeating his words back to him. He nodded, holding her eyes as he combed her hair back from her face with his fingers.

"Just in case I don't see you for a while," he said and gave her a wink. She let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob and he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. He kissed her slowly, because he wanted to make it last. And he kissed her softly, because he wanted her to remember it, to hold it with her. But when her mouth opened, when her tongue touched his and her fingers dug into the muscles in his back, he temporarily lost himself. He crushed her to him, moving his lips over hers desperately, begging her silently to not go, to not leave. This time, there was no knock. The door just swung open and slowly, he lifted his head from hers, eyes wide.

For the longest moment, they just stared at each other, and Sam's hands clutched at her, fisting in her clothing in a last ditch attempt to keep him with her as long as he could. But Stone cleared her throat behind them and reluctantly, they both turned to face her. As his arm went around Andy's shoulders, she slid hers around his waist and they stood shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip and faced her.

"It's time for you to go, Swarek." Her voice had lost the edge that it had carried earlier. She sounded almost sympathetic; sorry. He turned his head to Andy, looking at her one more time and she bobbed her eyebrows once at him and he smiled sadly, settling his mouth across hers one more time. And then Sam pulled away, and his arm slid from around her and he took a step towards the door. But Stone held up a hand, halting him,

"One more thing."

Sam frowned and moved back to Andy, clutching her hand tightly when she slid her fingers between his.

Stone stepped forward. The look on her face was conflicted. An equal mix of control and compassion, but when she spoke again, her voice hardened, and so did her expression. "We allowed this meeting as a personal favor to your staff sergeant. But," she took a deep breath and crossed her arms. "He has asked me to remind you, Officer Swarek, that any attempt to contact Ms. McNally could be construed not only as endangering the life of a federally protected witness, but also as an interference into an ongoing investigation. It would almost certainly result in the termination of your position with the Toronto Police Service and it is possible that you could also be charged with a crime. So please, keep that in mind."

Sam stood ramrod straight and a muscle in his face flexed as he clenched his jaw "Don't threaten me," he said sharply.

She stared back at him, compassion gone in an instant; her eyes equally as hard. "Don't give me a reason to."

"What's to stop me from contacting him?" Andy challenged, wanting to take some of the heat off of Sam. He squeezed her hand hard, and she turned to look at him; saw him shake his head almost imperceptibly.

She turned to Andy, looked at her probingly, seriously. "You're not a prisoner, Andy. Anytime you want out, you're out. But, if you choose to be under our protection, you choose to follow our rules. If we find out that you've broken those rules, we have the option to either move you or kick you out of the program. And that decision is largely based on our opinion of your ability and willingness to comply." She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. "You're a special case; you're not a criminal. You're a cop. So you know that even though it may be difficult at times, there are rules that need to be followed."

Stone's voice went soft, and she gave Andy a remorseful look. "The few people that have been lost in this program, we've lost because they were unable to leave their pasts behind. They'd call up an old friend, email their boss, what have you. Now, if that happens with you, we could move you. But someone who reaches out to old contacts once will almost always do it a second time. For that reason, let me tell you now, if you try in any way to contact anyone from your old life, you're on your own. We'll withdraw our protection, any money we're still providing, everything." She raised her eyebrows. "Are we clear?"

Sam saw the way Andy's eyebrows jumped up and the way the corners of her mouth tightened right before she opened it. But when he jerked her hard against his side, she glanced at him and then back at Stone and nodded. "Yeah, we're clear," she said, though she didn't sound like she meant it.

Stone turned to Sam then. "There's a car waiting outside for you. Anytime you're ready." She didn't move from the room or turn away even a degree. So he turned his back to her and pulled Andy into his arms. He folded her body against his, tightly pressed together from shoulder to thigh. Sam filled his hands with her one more time. Fingers slid into her hair, brushing her bangs back as his mouth nudged hers open. They slid down her neck, over her shoulders and back to her hips where he gripped harder than he meant to, eliciting a tiny gasp of pain from her. But she didn't pull away, so he slid them down to her rear. He held her to him tightly, memorizing the feel of her, soft and warm, pressed against him. He tore his mouth from hers and pressed it against her ear, even as her hair swirled around him, filling him one last time with that hot, jasmine, McNally scent.

He inhaled deeply, rubbing his nose in the soft tresses. "Don't worry about her," he whispered raggedly. "This isn't the end." And then he slanted his mouth across hers for the last time, closing his eyes against the familiar feeling of her fingers on his scalp and the wet-sounding breath she sucked in before she spoke.

"This isn't the end," she repeated quietly against his mouth, sounding like she almost believed it. And then he pulled away, rubbed his thumb over her cheek once, and backed out of the room. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, hoping she couldn't see the way the muscle in his cheek trembled. Stone followed him out, closing the door between them and Andy.

* * *

><p>He sat in the passenger seat of the unmarked car parked down the block. Shaw had tried to say something to him when he'd first climbed in but Sam just shook his head, and he shut up. In the backseat, Boyd was on the phone, like he had been since he'd walked out of the Andy's room. But Sam wasn't listening to a word he said. Oliver glanced over at him.<p>

"Ready to go, buddy?"

Sam shook his head. "Just wait." His eyes were on the safe house, watching intently.

"Listen, Sammy," he began his thumbs drumming anxiously against the steering wheel. "This situation, it's…" He took a deep breath and shook his head, instead giving him a sympathetic look.

"Just….just shut up," Sam said, as he leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees, putting his head in his hands. He rubbed his face once and then ran his fingers through his hair as he took the time to breathe deeply. He rubbed at his eyes tiredly with his forefinger and thumb and exhaled through his nose. Down the block, he heard a door slam, and his eyes lifted. They were moving her.

He watched as McBride carried the two huge duffels out and stashed them in the trunk of the car, and then he went back to the house, soon afterwards, he and Stone both escorted Andy to the backseat of the SUV with tinted windows. He wanted Oliver to flash the lights, just to let her know that he was still there, that he was looking out for her, but the trip from door to door was so quick and they were parked at such a distance that she probably wouldn't have noticed. Which might have made it worse.

After shutting the back door, the two cops climbed into the front seats, pulled out of the driveway and started down the street. Oliver put the car into drive, and Sam put out a hand.

"Give it a few seconds. I want to see if anyone follows them." But they saw no cars enter the street behind them, and no one slowed to let them pass. Finally, he motioned Oliver forward. And though they took the same path, eventually, Sam lost sight of the tail lights as Andy's vehicle pulled off the sleepy street and wove into the traffic ahead of them.

* * *

><p><strong>End note: Ok, don't be too hard on Stone. She's just doing her job. um...also...you're not going to like this, but since this is the end of Part 1 of this story, it seems like a good time to take a short hiatus and work on the Christmas sequel to The Distance. A VERY short hiatus :) Don't let this knowledge color your reviews ;)<strong>


	7. Chapter 6

**_Author's Note: Okay, I suck at hiatuses. I've already started CH. 7. It's just no good for me :) This chapter was hard to write, and hard to read over and over again. So, I need to thank the following people for helping me out, editing, distracting, opining, etc.: rookiebluefan89, cocobean2206, thismomentisstardust, SoWritten. Without you guys, this chapter would have been...much more irritating for me *L*_**

**_Also, I feel the need to warn you, this is not a particularly cheerful chapter. That being said, if you're having a bad day, maybe save it for tomorrow :) My feelings won't be hurt. But please, review either way :)_**

**_*** Also, I've made some revisions to the timeline, starting with Chapter 1. Either everyone was so engrossed in the story that they didn't realize I made some HUGE errors in spacing, or everyone was just too kind to tell me. Whatever the reason, since I saddled myself with a real date in the flashback for Ch. 5, I backtracked and fixed everything up until that point. Hopefully, everything is back on track now. Sorry for the confusion._**

* * *

><p><em>Andy opened her eyes. The room was still dark; it was still very early. She grabbed her phone and clicked it on. 6:12 AM. She took a deep breath and burrowed deeper under the blankets, pressing back against Sam. His thighs were stacked up behind hers, warm and hard with muscle, and his arm was banded across her front, hand curved around her rib cage. Again, she looked at her phone, this time at the call log and text messages. No calls, but a couple of texts between one and one-thirty, which meant that if he'd sent them when he left Sarah's, he wouldn't have rolled into town until almost 3:30. <em>

_She stroked a hand over his arm gently, not wanting to wake him, but feeling the need to touch him all the same. If she let him sleep, he wouldn't be up for hours. But she was awake __**now**__. She jumped a little in surprise as her stomach growled. Awake and hungry apparently. She bit her lip as she pulled her legs away from his, and__rolled carefully out from under his arm. Andy looked at him as she stood and watched as he pulled his arm back and rolled over onto his stomach, face in the pillow._

_She tiptoed out of the room and into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. Then she walked to the living room, put on her shoes and threw her coat on over her pajamas before snagging the keys to his truck out of his jacket pocket. She didn't even let the door click when she let herself out._

_It was a short ten minute drive to the coffee shop she liked, and when they'd filled her order, she stacked the bag with the doughnuts in between the cups in the carrier and walked it out to the truck. She set it on the passenger seat, keeping a careful eye on it as she put her belt on and pulled out into traffic. After a second thought, she reached out and kept her hand on one of the lids, holding the whole mess back from the edge__. __Even as much as he liked her, she knew he'd lose it if she dumped coffee in his truck. Soon enough, though, she was home and pulling the truck back into the same exact space outside her building._

_Andy went around to the passenger side to grab their breakfast and something in the backseat caught her eye. She pulled out the food and set it on the hood of the truck, keeping an eye on it to make sure it didn't slide off, and then opened the rear door. Wedged in behind the driver's seat was a banker's box, complete with__a lid. She reached in and dragged it forward, setting the cover aside gently. Inside was a mess; photographs, newspaper clippings, a ceramic handprint (Andy smiled at this), a few yellowed letters, a few comic books that looked like they were maybe thirty years old, and a few other odds and ends, all tossed together haphazardly. She glanced up at her apartment, feeling a little guilty for snooping, and then took out the first fragile-looking newspaper clipping. 'Wife, Mother of Two Dies in Car Accident.' Andy sucked in a quick breath and lowered her eyes to scan the article quickly, unable to help herself. She'd gotten halfway through the first sentence when a car alarm went off across the street. _

_She nearly jumped out of her skin, crunching the article between her fingers as her head snapped up and her eyes went to the offending vehicle. The alarm was shut off quickly by the owner who climbed right in and took off. But by that point, she'd lost her nerve. She flattened the article out as much as she could and then attempted to put it back the way she found it. Then she put the lid on and slid the box back behind the driver's seat and __closed the doors._

_When she let herself back into her apartment, she slipped her shoes and coat off and made her way back down the hallway to the bedroom. Sam was still face down in bed, sheet bunched up low around his waist. He'd fallen into bed naked, not an uncommon thing. Her eyes moved appreciatively over him, over the lines of muscle and dusky skin, heavily shadowed in the dark of morning. And then Andy couldn't help herself. She wanted him awake. She smiled to herself as she crouched down on his side of the bed and gently ran a hand over his head, holding back a grin as the corner of his mouth turned up briefly._

_She bent close to his ear and whispered, "Wake up." Again came the almost-smile and she leaned close, pressing her lips against his cheek. "Wake up," she said again, against his skin. This time, he opened his eyes. For a moment, they rested on her face, and then the corners wrinkled a little in a smile. He slid his hand behind her head and pulled her close for a quick kiss._

"_Get up here," he mumbled against her mouth. _

"_I brought you coffee," she said, grinning as she set it on the bedside table. "And doughnuts." He snatched the bag from her hand and tossed it over the other side of the bed. As he flipped onto his back, he pulled her down on top of him, groaning loudly in jest as she settled her weight along the length of him and her hipbones dug into his. He leaned his head back on the pillow and she folded her arms over his chest and smiled down at him. "Something I can do for you?" _

_His hands stroked down her back, over her butt. "I think we have some unfinished business."_

_She set her chin down on her arms. "Oh yeah?" She adopted a thoughtful expression. "I don't really remember where we left off."_

"_I think it was right about here…" He moved his hands down to the backs of her thighs, pulling them apart, hitching them up, fitting her body more intimately to his. She wouldn't exactly call it a gasp, that noise she made, but it made him laugh low in his throat like he was proud of himself. And he arched his hips pressing himself up against her._

_Andy's eyelids sunk a little then, and her face grew hot as she tipped it down to Sam's. She slanted her mouth hard across his, thrusting her tongue against his purposefully. His hands moved from her thighs to her neck, cupping, fingertips rubbing circles deep into her skin. His dark eyes were open, watching her, and as they looked into her, the heat made her go all molten inside. _

_As they crept up his chest, her fingers splayed wide across the muscle, digging in when he arched against her again. Then Andy dragged her mouth from his, down over his chin, scraping her teeth possibly a little rougher than usual against the skin at his throat. _

_One of his hands slid between them and untangled the drawstring of her flannel pants, and then he was pushing them down, using both hands, and she was kicking them away, off the side of the bed. He reached between them again and dragged the sheet out of the way, and she sat up, straddling his thighs. He used an elbow to push himself up into a sitting position and then his hands bunched in the hem of her shirt and he nodded to her, smiling expectantly. "Arms up, McNally." _

_She grinned back but obeyed, raising her arms above her head as he skimmed the shirt up over her ribs and breasts and lifted it up over her hands. He tossed it aside, and then his hands glided back down over her, over the tender skin of her inner arm. As goosebumps rose on her flesh, he laughed softly to himself when she instinctively leaned closer, aching for the warmth of his body. His arms went around her, lifting her, pressing her against him; chest to chest, stomach to stomach, hip to hip. As sensitive flesh rubbed against sensitive flesh, they both moaned, open mouths finding each other in a suddenly desperate quest. _

_As Sam lifted, hands grasping and kneading her flesh, she was reaching between them, adjusting, lining up. When he lowered her onto him, Andy tore her mouth from his and for a long second, their eyes locked onto each other. Then he leaned in, nipping at her lower lip as his hands started moving her again, this time with slow, torturous purpose. _

_She framed his face with her hands, stroking down over his hair and cheeks to his jaw; fingers moving to interlock behind his neck. And then she pulled her mouth away, tipping her head back a little as she sucked in a huge breath, air hissing as it moved through her teeth. Sam's mouth sank down onto her shoulder, tongue swirling over to the dip where her collarbones met. And then his hands rose; he didn't need to move her anymore. She was doing that on her own, using the muscles of her legs and hips to roll and thrust against him; picking up speed as his hands glided up over her ribs. _

_Sam's teeth grazed the side of her breast, a little sharper than she expected and she sucked in a quick breath, immediately feeling his tongue smoothing over the spot. Andy dug her nails into his shoulder. Giving back in equal measure, she dragged them forward over the muscle and he let out a loud moan as red stripes rose on his skin. And then his hand returned to her hips, gripping them tightly, lifting and dropping her, faster and harder, barely pausing when her body jerked hard against him. Andy's head snapped back as a cry was ripped from her lips, then it fell heavily on to his shoulder, and her breath came loud and hot in his ear. And then, as her hands moved up his neck, holding him to her tightly, she tilted her hips forward, arching in a little stretch and Sam hurtled over the edge._

_._

_The coffee had cooled. Sam stuck both cups in the microwave and snagged a couple of napkins from the cupboard and carried everything back to the bedroom. Andy was sitting leaned up against the headboard, legs crossed at the ankles, unabashedly naked, and she was eating a doughnut, chocolate glaze stuck in the corner of her mouth. _

_At the sight of him, she grinned. "I think we should do that every morning." _

_Sam smirked as he pushed the blankets down to the foot of the bed and climbed in next to her, passing her a cup. "I almost woke you up when I got here last night."_

_She scooted over until her shoulder touched his and shrugged. "I wouldn't have minded." He looked over at her and she sunk her teeth into her lower lip, raising her eyebrows suggestively. "I like waking up with you."_

_He laughed and worked an arm behind her, holding her against his side. "I like it too."_

_She leaned her head onto his shoulder and traced a finger up over his knee, halfway up his thigh. "Actually," she said slowly. "It was kind of hard to fall asleep without you here last night."_

_He leaned his head back against the headboard and took a sip from his cup. "Is that your way of saying that you missed me yesterday?"_

_She lifted her head and gave him an incredulous look. "You wish."_

_He shrugged, completely deadpan. "Hey, it's okay. You don't need to be embarrassed." But a smile started to work its way across his face towards the end and Andy rolled her eyes._

"_I think you're delirious__, __with hunger. Here." She shoved the second half of her doughnut at him. "Eat this."_

_He opened his mouth and she stuffed it in, laughing as she smeared chocolate frosting across his face. He chuckled as he chewed furiously, finally swallowing. Then Sam tightened his arm around her neck, pulling her close to wipe his face against hers as she squeaked and pushed at him. Laughing, he handed over a napkin and she scrubbed at her face, twisting out of the way when he licked his thumb and smeared it over her face._

"_How was it anyway? Your trip?" He took a deep breath and again, settled back against the headboard. It looked like he was considering the question carefully, and she pulled her knees up, hugging them loosely as she waited. _

_Finally, he shrugged and wiped his fingers and mouth on a napkin before picking up his coffee. "It was long. And exhausting."_

"_Why?"_

_He shook his head and made a dismissive face. "Sometimes Sarah just takes a lot out of a person. She doesn't like to hear the word 'no'."_

_Andy snorted. "Must be a genetic thing." He smirked at her and reached over, tugging the end of her ponytail. "But really, what did you do?"_

_Sam took a deep breath in through his nose. "She and her roommate own this used bookstore, kind of near downtown St. Catharines. It actually does pretty well, considering that most people don't read anymore. It's in an old house, three stories, full basement, huge wrap-around porch. The place was falling apart when they bought it, and they've been restoring it, a section at a time. They finally scraped together enough cash to redo one of the upstairs bedrooms. Anyway, she'd been using it as storage and wanted help moving everything out."_

"_Well, that doesn't sound so bad." Andy licked the last little bit of chocolate icing from her fingers._

_He raised his eyebrows at her. "You weren't there. There was a ton of shit, most of it was garbage; stuff from when we were kids. We spent most of the time moving out boxes and ripping up carpet. I was ready to leave by then, but Sarah wanted to sort through everything. And she didn't want to do it by herself." He grinned suddenly as he snatched up the doughnut bag from between them. "I made her buy me dinner and fill my gas tank first." _

_Andy smiled and put her chin on her knees, keeping her tone casual and her eyes on her toes as she asked, "So, is that what's in that box in your truck? Stuff from when you were little?" _

_He'd been reaching in for the second doughnut but the rustling suddenly stopped as he pulled it out and focused on her. "Did you look at it?"_

_She shook her head. "No." She wasn't sure why she lied, but it came out a breath too fast and for a moment, she was sure he knew._

_He looked at her for a moment longer and then nodded. "Yeah, we got everything down to five boxes. She made me take one." He flashed his dimples at her. "I think she's going to try and get me to take the rest next time." Sam took a swig of his coffee. "Joke's on her. Whatever she gives me is going in the dumpster."_

_Her brows drew together and she tipped her head a little in confusion. "Why? Don't you want it?"_

_He shook his head. "Nope."_

"_Why not? What's the big deal?"_

_He shrugged and broke the pastry in half and handed her a piece. "No big deal. I just don't want it."_

_She took it from him, tore off a piece and put it in her mouth. She kept her eyes on him the whole time, looking for some sort of emotion in his expression. "Well, I think you should keep it. You might change your mind." _

"_I doubt it." _

_Andy frowned, reaching up to his face, stroking her fingers back through his hair, over his ear. "Do you want to talk about it__?__"_

_Again, he shook his head. "Not today." He took a drink of his coffee. "Now, what exactly did we get Nash's kid for his birthday? I don't want to look like an idiot if she says something about it."_

* * *

><p><strong>January 5 (Two Weeks After She Left)<strong>

Andy opened her eyes. In the room next door, she could hear Stone moving around. Andy had been listening to her for more than an hour now. She'd done the same things every morning for the last two weeks. Turned off the alarm, went into the bathroom, flushed the toilet, ran the shower. Five to seven minutes later, the shower turned off, and drawers began sliding out and in as Stone pulled out her clothing and dried and dressed. The television was running the whole time of course; blasting the news, or music, or whatever interested her that morning. She made a couple of phone calls to various co-workers, or maybe one long phone call to her sister or her mother. And then she got out the hair dryer.

That was when Andy usually sat up. Today, she just lay there.

They'd spent every night for the last two weeks in hotel rooms. Andy spent Christmas under the covers at the Holiday Inn in Winnipeg, staring at the television for hours, but not really seeing anything. McBride and Stone asked if she wanted to do anything, if she wanted to go to dinner, or maybe find a movie or just anything to make it a little more bearable. But all she'd wanted to do was stay in bed. If she'd been able to sleep, she would have. So, instead she just laid there, flipping through the channels until she found something that wouldn't make her cry.

They'd been in this particular establishment, a few miles from the Vancouver International Airport, for the last four nights, checking in just in time for New Year's. Things had been only slightly better since arriving in Vancouver. Although both were based here, had homes of their own here, her escorts stayed in the hotel with her. McBride had a room at the end of the hall, and mostly kept to himself, except for random sweeps where he would stop by and poke his head in, checking on them.

Stone, on the other hand, was always around. She and Andy shared adjoining rooms. The first few nights on the road, Andy had tried to keep the doors between the rooms closed, convinced that she needed space to clear her head, time to figure everything out. But when the doors were closed, things got quiet in her room; and she could hear every footstep out in the hall, and every car pulling into the parking lot. Which meant that she could only think about the floor creaking outside her door, or wonder about who was walking from the parking lot up to the building. Or even worse, she'd find herself thinking about Sam, which was infinitely more exhausting.

So, the doors between the rooms stayed open, and Andy listened to Stone snore softly, talk quietly in her sleep, wake up, startled from dreams. And so she could relax; even if she couldn't sleep. Stone never asked about the doors, which Andy was grateful for. However, she _did_ ask about the insomnia, because with the portal open, she could hear Andy moving around and could see the lights from the television bouncing off the walls.

Andy didn't even bother to deny it. It wasn't like she'd been making an effort to hide it anyway. She hadn't made a move to cover the circles under her eyes, or to mask her yawns. They'd go out for breakfast, and afterwards, Stone would work and Andy would crawl back into bed only to drop off into her first of several catnaps of the day. For some reason, she could sleep during the day. Not for long, and not deeply, but the sleep _did_ come.

So today, Andy was waiting. She was just going to stay in bed until her body or brain or whatever it was that decided these things, figured out that it was daylight and let her sleep. So, she kept her eyes closed, waiting.

And today, she wouldn't allow herself to think about Sam. Every passing thought brought on the water works, and she hadn't yet mastered the art of controlling the tears. It had almost been worse, seeing him, saying goodbye. If she hadn't seen him, she might have been able to convince herself that it was a passing thing; that he wasn't everything she'd remembered him to be. Strong, and solid, and the perfect height for her to wrap her arms around. She might have been able to forget the way his hands flattened against her back, the shivers she got when he pressed his mouth to her ear and whispered, breath swirling hot over her skin. And that feeling, like she was untouchable. Like when he was next to her, nothing could get to her, no one could hurt her. She blinked twice, and two fat tears rolled out of her eyes and down over the sides of her face, getting lost in her hair.

Stone popped her head in the door. "Time to get out of bed."

Andy rolled over to face the wall, brushing at the wetness on her face with the corner of the sheet. So much for being strong. Stone walked around the bed and yanked on the cord hanging from the curtain rod, snapping the drapes open; letting a harsh blast of light into the room.

"Shit, Jill!" Andy flipped the pillow over her face and pulled the blanket up over it.

"Nope. It's almost eleven. I'm starving and I have to be back here for a conference call in two hours."

"I'm staying in bed today. Order a pizza if you're hungry." When Stone fisted both her hands in the blanket and ripped it off the bed, Andy sprang up, glaring at her. "It's not like I have a job to go to, or people to see, or even a single fucking thing to do today. So just lay off!" She fell back down and again, the pillow covered her head.

Stone took a deep breath and then pulled a cheaply made armchair up to the edge of Andy's bed and sat. She waited quietly for a minute and a half until Andy lifted the pillow to glare at her again.

"Look," she said before Andy could snarl at her again. "I'm only going to let you do this to yourself for maybe another week."

"You _do_ realize that I just lost everything and everyone I ever cared about, right? It's not like I can just forget about it."

Stone held her hand out, examining her nails. "No one's asking you to forget. I'm asking you to act like an adult and take care of yourself. One week. And then things are going to change."

"What things?"

"Well for starters," Stone put her bare feet up on the edge of the mattress and put her hands on her knees. "You're going to start showering. At least every other day. Not just when you start to smell yourself; because I have to spend all day with you, and I notice it before you do." Andy rolled her eyes and dropped the pillow again. "And you're going to start eating. I haven't seen you eat or drink anything more than coffee, a couple of candy bars and a pop tart since I met you."

She stood up and grabbed the pillow, throwing it in the corner. Andy flipped over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. "And once you ditch the coffee and the sugar, you'll probably start to sleep again. Which will not only make _my_ nights easier, but you'll feel better, and might actually _want_ to get out of bed in the morning. You see how this plan comes full circle?" Finally, Andy looked at her, all the fight gone from her face. "Good. Get up. You've got ten minutes."

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes later, Andy found herself sitting across from Stone in a green vinyl-covered booth at a family restaurant. She'd had requested a quieter corner, and across the dining room, Andy could see a large table of travelers, heavily-laden with small children, and too few parents to properly corral them all. Stone was flipping through the menu; Andy didn't know why. They'd been here three times. She probably knew most of it by heart.<p>

"What are you getting?"

Andy shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not really hungry."

"Big surprise," Stone muttered as the waitress stepped up. "Yes, hi. I'm going to get a cup of the soup and a chicken salad sandwich, please."

She turned to Andy. "And for you?" Andy pulled her cardigan tighter, overlapping the sides, then crossed her arms over it.

"Maybe a piece of pie? Apple."

"No." The waitress looked over at Stone who was pulling tablets and files out of her briefcase. "Don't bring her pie. She's going to have a cheeseburger, with a side of fruit and a big glass of milk." Her tone allowed for no wiggle-room and so the server wrote down the order, took the menus and left. She glanced at Andy's irate expression and shrugged. "Sorry. Changed my mind about the whole 'one week' thing."

"I don't want all that."

"I don't care. You need to start taking care of yourself."

"Like a cheeseburger is healthy," Andy scoffed.

"For someone who's deficient in calories? Yeah, it is. Protein, carbs, fat. Add in the fruit and the milk and you're not doing so bad." She slid a tablet and an expensive-looking pen over to Andy. "This is a working lunch."

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"The same thing I had you do last time. Except this time, you're actually going to _do_ it. I want lists. Marketable job skills, including a rundown of every kind of job you've held. Every university level class you took. We need to start thinking about where to look to find you employment. Also, I want you to start thinking about what we're going to need to do in order for you to start feeling safe at night."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, sooner or later, we're going to find you a permanent residence. And I won't be able to stay in the next bedroom with the doors open every night." Andy ran her hand through her hair as she blushed then folded her arms again. Stone took a deep breath, and her expression softened. "Andy, I really don't mind, but that's not exactly how this thing is supposed to work. So, if you need an alarm system, triple locks on the doors, bars on the windows, let me know, and we'll see what we can work out. But that stuff all takes time, so it's better to know now." She kept digging through her bag.

When she looked up again, Andy was holding the tablet up in front of her; "SAM" was scrawled across the center of the page.

Stone's face was expressionless, her tone unimpressed. "I can't get you that." She started pulling papers out of the folders, stacking them together in a very specific order.

"Then I want a gun."

Stone slowed her movements and looked up at her again. "You're not a cop anymore. And you know the laws about civilians owning handguns."

Andy shrugged. "I want a gun. And don't give me any of that bullshit about private citizens and safety classes and carrying concealed. I know how to handle a gun and I have the right to protect myself. Your people handle all that, right?" she challenged. "I know you can get me the permits and licenses and everything."

They stared at each other a long moment and finally Stone nodded. "Like I said, it'll take a little time." She tapped her nails against the table. "And to get the licenses, you're going to have to actually pick a name." She quirked an eyebrow.

She'd been avoiding this, evading every question, ignoring the very mention of a new identity. It was like, if she could just stay _Andy_, then maybe there was still a way out, a way _back_. Picking a new name made it real.

But she needed that gun. Andy set her head in her hands and took a deep breath. "Fine. Let's do it."

"Alright." Stone flipped through her papers, finally pulling out the right one. "I know we've tried this a few times, but let's talk it through once more. Something close enough to your own name so you'll respond when someone says it. Same initials are okay. So…Abby, Annie, Anna, Addy, Allie…"

"Abby." Andy sat back and thought about it. "I think I could be an Abby."

Stone gave her an amused look. "You could be. Last name? We can keep the 'Mc' if you want. McAllister, McArthur, McCormick, McDonald…"

Andy narrowed her eyes. "You're just going alphabetical."

"Seemed easier. But there's probably a thousand different names to choose from. You could be a McBride. Mark's long lost cousin," she said with a grin.

"McAllister is fine."

"You just stopped listening after the first choices, right?" Stone's eyes glittered and Andy felt herself start to smile back, but squelched it.

"Pretty much." Again, her eyes skittered across the room to the family taking up the three tables pushed together. The children had settled down to their food, and the volume had lowered significantly.

"Not going to argue," Stone muttered. "Abigail McAllister. Same middle name." She filled the name in on a few blank forms. Her cell started to ring and her pen kept moving as she pulled it out of her pocket and hit a button. "Stone." She spoke quickly, asking a few questions; where, when, how long. She covered the mouth piece and nodded her head at the tablet. "Get to work. We've got a busy day today."

Andy picked up the pen again, flipping over the sheet with Sam's name on it. Across the top of the next page, she wrote "Skills". Computer skills for sure; data entry, report writing, filing. Interviewing, crowd control, undercover work… Okay, now she was reaching.

Stone hung up the phone and bobbed her eyebrows at Andy. "Well, Abby McAllister. It's your lucky day. Your paperwork just came in."

The server stepped up then and started setting plates and glasses down on the table. Andy waited until she'd left again before she spoke.

"Isn't that soon? You said it could take a few weeks."

"Like I told your friend, I'm good at my job." She squeezed a little lemon into her water. "Plus, you're high priority."

"What does that mean, exactly? My paperwork being in?"

Stone picked up her sandwich. "It means that when we get done here, we're going to go back to the hotel and you're going to shower. Then we're going to head in to the office." She nodded at Andy's plate. "Eat something."

Andy looked down at her food. "It seriously makes me sick to even _think _about eating this."

"That's because it's been so long since you've eaten anything that didn't come in a foil wrapper. Take a bite. Trust me. Your body will remember."

Andy took a deep breath through her nose and reached for the condiment caddy. "What happens when we get to your office?"

Stone finished chewing and took a sip of water. "First I'll file the papers for your new identity, and after that, we can go and get some pictures taken, get you a new driver's license, birth certificate, the works. We'll sit down and go through the protection agreement. It'll take the rest of today, and maybe a little bit of tomorrow to get through it all." Andy took a bite of her burger, and as she swallowed, her stomach growled, embarrassingly loud. She flushed, but took another bite. She continued to eat quietly for a minute, watching Stone spoon soup into her mouth as she made notes on the paper.

"Then what?" she asked around a mouthful.

"Well, there's still a lot of work to do. We have to deal with the people who are going to be signing your checks, set you up with short-term housing, and start the process to place you permanently." She glanced up and smirked. "Are you feeling better now?"

Andy froze a second and then swallowed the huge mouthful of milk she'd just taken. She glanced down. The burger was gone. Put away in less than three minutes, it was now sitting heavily and satisfyingly in her stomach. She grinned. "Yeah. Better."

Stone nodded. "Good. Fruit next."

Andy stabbed a piece of melon with her fork. "So, how long do you think I'll have to be in short-term housing?"

Stone tipped her head to the side, considering it. "Well, we're moving pretty quickly. I'd hope not more than a couple of weeks."

Andy sat back in the booth, milk glass in hand. "Where are you going to put me?"

"For short-term?"

She shook her head. "No. I mean, where am I going to end up?"

Stone slid the tablet over to her again. "I have a place in mind, but we have some options. We'd like to keep you close; I need to be able to get to you relatively quick. But I'd say up to 100 kilometers of the city limits in any direction. You said you had no connections in Vancouver, right?"

Andy shook her head. "No family. I think I heard that a few people I went to school with moved out this way, but I haven't talked to them in years."

Stone nodded, adding another couple of words to her notes. "I'll take that under consideration."

"What's this for?" Andy tapped her pen on the tablet.

"Make another list. I can't guarantee that I can give you all of it, or any of it for that matter, but if I know what would make you more comfortable, what would help you transition easier, it would really help. Write down anything, size, landscape, favorite stores." She smiled. "Think of it as a brainstorming activity."

Andy stared at her for a few seconds. "You usually just pick for people, don't you? You don't give them an option."

Stone looked back and nodded. "Like I said. We're willing to make concessions for you. Or rather,_ I'm _willing to make concessions for you. And the powers that be generally listen to my recommendations, at least as far as placement is concerned." She picked up the rest of her sandwich. "Now finish up. We've got a lot to do today."

* * *

><p><strong>January 9<strong>

Sam opened his eyes. His second alarm was jangling loudly, vibrating his cell phone against the nightstand. He tapped a button, making it snooze for ten minutes, and then flipped over and curled his arms under the pillow, pressing his face into it, trying to recapture that quiet peaceful, dreamless state of unconsciousness he'd just woken from.

It wasn't a total one-eighty from where he'd been two weeks ago, but it was better; marginally. Two weeks ago, he'd been barely holding it together; he'd spent the weekend after Andy left in a sort of haze. He'd come home that first night, locked the doors, shut off his phone and then started drinking.

The next Monday, he'd gone into Guns and Gangs and finished his debriefing. He knew he had to stay busy. He had to keep his mind on work, on anything actually, to keep himself from feeling that sharp ache in his chest that he felt every time he looked up, expecting to see her enter the room. He needed to do something with his hands because the first thing he'd done the morning after she left was run all of his laundry through, and when he'd come across one of those tiny shirts she liked to wear to bed, he'd fisted his hands in it, held onto it for entirely too long before stuffing it deep into the bottom of the basket. So, after he'd reread his final statement, gone over the daily reports one last time, and done a closing run-through of everything with Boyd, he'd gone to talk to Frank.

This time, Sam had turned Boyd down without a second thought when he'd mentioned a permanent opening in Guns and Gangs. He wanted to get back to his job; his real job. He wanted to get into a car and drive; work the streets, and fill out reports.

But it was standard protocol for the department to offer a returned undercover operative some recoup time. A paid vacation so that they could reconnect with family, put their lives back in order. Normally it was done after trial, but since Sam wouldn't be called to testify anytime soon, Best was giving it to him early. Except he hadn't really been offering; he'd been ordering.

"_Swarek, you need a break. Wherever your head is right now, it isn't here. I can't put you out on the street like this." Best gestured at him and Sam looked down. Out of habit, and because he simply hadn't been thinking, he'd dressed like he'd been dressing for work with Clay and the Malones; wrinkled jeans, a holey T-shirt and a heavier chamois button-down over the top. He hadn't shaved in days, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd used anything other than his fingers to comb through his hair. The dark circles under his eyes probably weren't helping either._

"_Frank, I'm fine. I just need to work. I have to do __**something**__." Sam realized he was almost yelling, a strangely desperate tone resonating in his voice. He dropped his volume. "Look, I can stay in the barn and help with the case."_

"_You're not going to do yourself or this case any good if I let you bury yourself in it. So you can either take the time, or you can ride a desk for two weeks. Up to you." Sam just glared at him, loathing the feeling of powerlessness that had been coursing through him the last few days; unable to help Andy, unable to help himself. Frank clapped a hand on his shoulder and turned him towards the door. "Go home; go see your sister. Try to put your life back together. Get back to normal, then come back and we'll talk."_

Sam had actually considered trying to explain it. The fact that Sarah couldn't help because she didn't know Andy, had never met her. And that there was absolutely no way she could understand because she didn't know, couldn't know the truth about why Andy was gone.

And the other truth? The one that Sam had been so incredibly reluctant to admit to Best, or even to himself, was that unless Andy was there, there would be no normal. They'd spent too much time together in those three weeks, had spent two months missing each other desperately and waiting for this. For exactly this. For him to be done and home. And now? There could be no _normal_. This was as _normal_ as it was going to get. But instead of explaining, he'd yelled a little more; accusing Best and the team of everything from criminal negligence to just plain stupidity, getting louder as his arguments weakened. Frank just stared at him the whole time, letting him get it out, managing to look embarrassed and intimidating all at the same time. Finally, realizing he was probably moments away from a reprimand, he'd stormed out of the office and out of the station.

Because he didn't know what else to do, he _had_ driven down to St. Catharines to see Sarah. He hadn't been interested in conversation, and she knew his moods well enough to not push, but she _did_ put him to work. They hadn't made any further progress on the second floor while he'd been undercover, so she let him start on the second bedroom. However, when she'd walked up the stairs the next morning to check on him, she found that not only had he worked through the night, but he'd ripped up a third bedroom as well and was in the middle of taking apart the plumbing in the bathroom. She made him put the pipes back together and then, she'd kicked him out.

And so, he'd come back to Toronto. Mail was opened, bills were paid, then shredded. He cleaned out his truck, changed the oil, checked the fluids, and reorganized his tools. The front and back sidewalks needed shoveling, so he did that. Then he'd gone back inside and cleaned the place from top to bottom. He hadn't slept until it was done. And even then, sleep didn't come easily.

At first, Sam had been convinced that it was her stuff. Her clothes and the pile of hair binders on the corner of his dresser, and her bathroom crap still crammed in next to his in the medicine cabinet and cluttering up his shower. So, he'd gotten rid of them. Dug down into the laundry basket and grabbed that shirt, went through his top drawer to pull out a few random pairs of her underwear, and snatched up every other little thing that was hers. It was all stuffed it into a large brown paper sack and put it down in the basement. Where it'd sat for approximately a half hour until he realized that it was only making him feel worse.

So, it came back up; he'd put everything back where he'd found it. And then, he laid in bed, face-down in the pillow, listening to the sound of his own heartbeat until he fell into a restless sleep.

The next day, he'd decided that he'd already had enough. So he'd put on his clothes, packed his duffel and gotten into his truck, intent on going to work, Frank and his mandatory break be damned. But somehow, instead of pulling into the station, he'd found himself parked in front of Andy's apartment. And then of course, he'd had to go inside.

He still had her key, the one she'd left for him that night so long ago, but the locks had been changed days before. So Sam had flashed his badge at the landlord and he'd opened the door for him. Already, things inside were different. The apartment was cold, empty. Someone had already begun packing. Her personal things had been gathered together; there were boxes stacked against the walls, the throw rug was rolled up, furniture pushed into a corner, ready to be loaded. Quickly, he'd moved down the hall, to the bedroom.

This room hadn't yet been touched and at the sight of it, memories flooded and quickened his heart. The box was where she'd said it would be; his name in huge letters across the top. He hadn't gone through it, not there, not yet. He couldn't because the room still smelled like her, like her hair, and the scent of her skin after a shower, all clean and fresh and _his_. And so he'd taken the box and the laptop and carried them both down to the truck and sped away, telling himself that when he got home, he'd go through it. But when he got home, he'd set the box and the computer on the table and had gone back to bed, tossing and turning for hours before finally succumbing to sleep.

That had been nine days ago. Since then, he'd spent the majority of his time alternating between drunk and hung over; between being completely numb and being so raw inside that he ached on the outside. He'd completely forgotten about Christmas until he woke in the middle of the evening and moved like a zombie from his bed to the sofa and clicked on the television to find something to distract him from the noise inside his head. As flashes of red and green, and cartoons and family dinners splashed across the screen, he'd remembered how Andy'd talked about them spending the holiday together. And then he went to pour himself a Christmas present. After that, the only time he'd dragged himself from his bed was when Shaw stopped by.

He'd come over four or five times over the last several days. Each time, he brought food: pizza from the Penny, burgers from the diner, once even a lasagna that Zoe had put together. Oliver never suggested he get out of the house or clean himself up. He just sat there and talked while Sam listened, picking at the food in front of him. Another thing he brought was news of the case; or rather, only the affirmation that there was no news.

As far as anyone could tell, every involved party had blown town. There hadn't been sightings of Weston in more than a week. They'd gotten a report of a short, wiry dark-haired guy with a taped nose purchasing gasoline, but by the time a patrol car showed up, he'd driven away in a nondescript gray sedan. The license plate had been obscured with mud and snow, and so it looked just like a thousand other cars; there was absolutely nothing distinctive about it.

Bishop, Allen, and the Malones had vanished. There was no other word for it. No one had seen or heard from Bishop or Allen since the meeting with Hill. The Malones were the same. A squad car had been sent around to the apartment they shared with Evan's girlfriend, and though they kept going back, she always said the same thing. She hadn't heard from them since the night they disappeared; they hadn't told her where they were going, or when they'd be back. When asked why she hadn't gone with them, she'd snottily replied that she hadn't been asked, and that she had a real job. She couldn't just take off whenever she felt like it. Sam had a feeling that if they ever returned, they'd find their belongings on the side of the road waiting for garbage pickup.

Oliver had done one other thing whenever he showed up. He'd tried to get Sam to talk about it; about Andy. He'd never asked outright, just found some reason to bring her up, to mention her name. But each time, Sam had shut him down. Sometimes with a look, or a sharply spoken "Don't." One particularly bad day, he'd simply gotten up from the couch and walked back to the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

Since then, two days ago, he'd been sober, unfortunately. Shaw had taken the last of his booze when he'd walked out the door. But it had given him the opportunity to run things through his head, as much as it hurt to do so. He tried to keep it all separate, his feelings for Andy and his theories about the case; but they were so interwoven that thoughts of Bishop ultimately led him to memories of Andy. And it was the memories that were actually killing him.

When he'd been undercover, there was always the knowledge that in three months, he'd be back. That he would feel her thighs pressing, hot and firm, up against his as she curled against him in bed. And he'd hear that laugh in her voice, see the twitch of her hair as she walked away from him. Knowing that it was temporary had made the distance between them bearable. But now? Now there was no guarantee. Sure, she might come back to town for trial, but only if they found someone to prosecute. Despite the promises they'd made, he harbored a very real fear that he might never see her again. And that was the thought that refused to fade; that was the thing keeping him up at night.

His phone rang, jarring him, pulling him back into reality, and he glanced at it. Shaw. Probably calling to tell him that he was going to be late for his first day back. Sam waited until his voicemail picked up and then he pushed the covers out of the way and sat up. He staggered to the bathroom, leaving the door open as he turned on the shower and looked at himself in the mirror.

One of the bonuses about not having to be anywhere for days on end was that you didn't have to actually care about the way you looked. His whiskers had almost two weeks' worth of growth shadowing the lower part of his face and his eyes were bloodshot, thanks to another night of restless sleep. Dismissing his reflection, he opened up the medicine cabinet, and plucked out his toothbrush and toothpaste and razor, ignoring the rest of the mess in there. After expending some serious energy on his mouth and face, he stripped off his sweatpants and climbed into the shower. For several minutes, he stood there, unmoving, just breathing as the hot water beat at his shoulders and he prepared himself for the day to come.

* * *

><p>Sam waited until the last possible second to walk into parade, trying to avoid the stares, but he felt all eyes shift to him anyway. He pretended he didn't notice as he sank down into a chair near the back and Noelle sat down next to him.<p>

"Good to have you back," she said quietly. He glanced at her and gave a short nod, quickly shifting his focus back to the front of the room.

Frank started talking, discussing the plan for the day, but as soon as Sam heard that he'd be spending the day in the barn, he tuned out. He wasn't surprised. It made sense that Best would want to check him out; make sure he'd calmed down a little.

Nash and Barber were sitting next to each other, and Jerry had his eyes on the front of the room, but Nash was openly watching him. There was something in her expression that gave him pause. Curiosity, and something a little darker; maybe anger, maybe frustration. Not exactly what he'd been expecting. Then she turned to Jerry and whispered something to him. Neither of them looked back again.

He leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest and surveyed the rest of the room. For the most part, everything seemed normal, if a little quiet. Usually, even during parade, there was an energy, some feeling of preparation and anticipation to get out there and work. But today, it felt more like waiting for the ball to drop. Like something was coming. His eyes slid off to the right and that's when he noticed Peck. She was doing her best to keep her eyes off him, but every now and again, they'd flick over.

Obviously long-recovered from her encounter with Weston, she was sitting closely nestled between Epstein and Diaz, leaning back in her seat. The last time he'd seen any of them, they'd had been fighting amongst themselves. Andy tried to explain it to him, but at the time he'd been thinking about the fastest way to get her home and out of her clothes; so he hadn't really been paying attention. Apparently, things had settled down. Maybe her run-in with a known assassin had shaken the boys up a little. He glanced at her again. Her expression was different than Nash's. It was more of a searching look; trying to gauge his mood, to figure out where he was. He ignored her.

And then, before he realized it, parade was over. Best nodded to him and Sam stayed put while bodies filed past him and out the door. Frank gathered his papers together and then came and sat on the edge of the table across from Sam.

"How was the vacation?"

"Sucked." Sam gave him a smile, lips pressed together tightly, irritation evident.

"I know you're not happy about being put on desk."

"Not really," he admitted, his voice cold. He sat up a little straighter in his chair.

Frank nodded and set his paperwork aside. "It's just for the day. You need to go talk to the shrink. You were supposed to do it as part of your debriefing, and you blew it off."

"Yeah, well, I had other things on my mind." The sarcasm wasn't going to help him, and he knew it. But somehow, he couldn't help himself.

"I'm not surprised." Best nodded and then spoke carefully. "Listen, I've already spoken to the rookies about this, but I just want to remind you that if you hear from her, from McNally, I expect to hear about it." His voice was quiet, compassionate. But Sam heard for what it was: an order.

"I don't know what to tell you. She's not gonna contact me."

"Probably not. But even so… Any phone calls, or emails, I want to know."

"Christ, Frank. She knows IT monitors departmental emails. She's not stupid."

"I know. But we don't know what's going through her head right now."

_Yes, I do_, Sam thought. If he knew Andy, she was feeling backed into a corner, completely pinned down, unable to help herself. And anxious because she didn't have any idea what was coming. They could tell her their plans, but he imagined it was like anything else. Until she was in the thick of it, she wouldn't have any real idea. But he didn't say that; he just shook his head and stood up.

"She won't contact me," he said again and stalked over to the door.

"Swarek." He paused, but didn't turn back. "When you get back, go see Barber and he'll bring you up to speed on the case." Sam gave him a short nod and then walked out, heading towards the elevator.

* * *

><p>After an hour with the police psychologist, he returned to the squad room, glad to be at work, but almost wishing he was home in bed. She'd done her best to be subtle, but she kept at him; kept him answering questions about how he felt during his operation, about the loneliness of being undercover… Sam rolled his eyes at her when she asked that one, as if she had any clue.<p>

But she knew more about his situation than she was letting on. Exactly how much, what details, he wasn't sure. The way she watched him was probing and expectant, as if she thought he'd break down at any second, spilling his guts. _Not in this lifetime, _he'd thought, folding his arms. The trick with this was to give the answers they wanted to hear; that he was affected, but not so affected that he couldn't do his job. That he didn't have trouble sleeping, and wasn't having any sort of irrational guilt over his involvement in any possibly illegal activities.

He'd done it before, more than once. And so this time, when she'd told him to come back the following week, he'd been surprised. He'd just stared at her for a long moment, and she'd stared back, daring him to argue. But he didn't. If he'd argued, she'd have him back week after week until she was satisfied she'd fixed him. So he left, feeling monumentally screwed over, and went back downstairs.

Barber was gone, Hendricks with him, checking out a shooting at a convenience store; a hold-up that had turned into a murder. So Sam slid into a chair at the front desk next to Diaz, keeping his eye on the door.

* * *

><p>Barber returned an hour or so after lunch and as he saw Sam, he tipped his head towards his desk, and Sam followed. Jerry perched on the edge of his desk and Sam sat heavily in a chair in front of him. He raised his eyebrows in surprise as Jerry reached behind him and grasped a thick file, then dropped it into Sam's hands.<p>

"This is everything we have on this case. Transcript of the call to dispatch, investigation notes, evidence lists, witness statements. Full records on suspects." Sam didn't look up as he paged through it. "Also, what we've gotten of the forensics reports. Sketches, photographs, measurements, everything."

"Why are you giving this to me?"

Jerry crossed his arms and gave him a small smile. "Frank said you wanted to be involved, but he's concerned. He thinks you're too close." Sam flipped the cover closed on the folder and looked at him. Jerry shrugged. "I think he's wrong. I think you're more motivated than any of us to get these guys. And you have other information that we don't have. You spent time with them, you know how they move, decisions they'd make." He stood up and walked around to his chair and sat down. "So, I told him I'd keep an eye on you, but I don't want to do that. You know what has to be done in order to make a case and you'll do what you have to bring them in. And I know you wouldn't risk a conviction for any personal vendetta." His eyes locked onto Sam's hard; a not-so-subtle warning. Sam held the gaze for a long moment and then nodded.

"Yeah. No problem."

"Okay. Look that over, get it back to me and we'll talk." His phone rang and he held up a finger, signaling him to wait as he picked it up. "Barber." Sam opened the file again, turning pages quickly to get an idea of what he had. Jerry wasn't on the phone long. "Swarek." He closed the folder and looked up. "That was Tech, over at CFS. They've got the final report on the cellphones found in Warren's possession. They offered to fax it, but I need everything: call logs, contact lists, pictures, videos, everything. I need someone to pick up the discs." He raised his eyebrows.

"C'mon, Jerry. Send one of the rooks."

"Hey, you wanted to help. And the only rookie we have on this case is Peck, and she's out on a call."

"What about Nash? Why isn't she on it?"

"I don't want her anywhere near this case. And she's having trouble keeping her feelings for the witness separate from her feelings about the case." He gave him another pointed look and Sam rolled his eyes.

"I'm fine, Jerry."

He nodded. "Glad to hear it. Better head over there."

Sam stood up and started to turn away, but then looked at him again. "What about Callaghan?"

Barber raised an eyebrow at him. "He's out for another week."

"Then what?"

He shrugged. "He'll probably be back. I really don't know."

Sam pressed his lips together and took in a frustrated breath through his nose, lifting the thick file once in a useless gesture as he turned to leave.

* * *

><p>At the end of the day, Sam walked out to his truck, and took off. He was exhausted. After a long shift, he was always a little tired, experiencing a natural gradual winding down at the end of a day. But today, he was tired in his bones; like he'd almost forgotten how much energy it took to just be alert and around other people.<p>

Sam glanced over towards the passenger seat. Wedged in between his duffel and the back of the seat were a couple of manila envelopes stuffed full of papers. A duplicate of the case file. When he'd gotten back from the Centre of Forensic Sciences, he'd ducked into one of the supply rooms and started running pages through the copier. It'd taken forever, and at the time, he'd been pretty sure someone would walk in and bust him. He got copies of everything, even the new report from the Electronics Department. He'd have to do without copies of the discs, although, he didn't think it would matter. As far as he could tell from his cursory glance, the Tech guys hadn't really found much.

The envelope they'd given him had been full of paper, three thick packets of call logs from three phones, Simonson's and Warren's and a disposable that Sam was pretty sure was used for making drug deals. On Andy's there were only a few sheets. When she'd suspended her service, she'd also activated the remote wipe function on the phone. They pulled no data from it. No contact lists, pictures, videos, or call logs. When he'd discovered that, a strong surge of pride and relief flooded him and, as brief as it was, it had been the first time he'd really smiled in over a week.

But as proud as he might be, it didn't really help the case. So the plan was to go home and start from scratch. He'd go through the file sheet by sheet, take his own notes and try to put it together. Try to figure out something; just one thing that might push them ahead. However, that would have to start tomorrow.

There was one more person he needed to see today.

* * *

><p>Weston tipped the beer bottle to his lips, taking a healthy swig before pulling the ringing cell phone out of his pocket. He hit the button and put it up to his ear, turning around to face the mostly empty bar. He had a ball cap pulled down low over his face, shadowing it, obscuring the last little bit of bruising still present under his eyes and around his nose.<p>

"Yeah."

"Where are you?" In his ear, Allen's voice was cold and clipped; no nonsense.

"Same place I was last week."

"Well, you need to get back to work."

"_I_ need to get back to work?" He turned around and leaned against the bar, dropping his voice to a harsh whisper. "You promised me some real money. What the hell happened to the deal?"

"It's on hold. The shipment fell through. We're waiting on another one." He heard voices in the background as someone spoke to Allen. "He's wondering what you're doing about the Malones."

"Why's it my problem? You're the one that gave 'em the job," he hissed.

"Yeah, well now you're the only one close enough to take care of it."

"I'm five hours from Toronto."

"What's your point?"

Weston pushed an angry breath between his teeth and took another drink of his beer. "Where do I find 'em?"

"They shared an apartment with Evan's girlfriend. I'd start there." He rattled off the address and Weston snapped his fingers at the bartender, signaling for a pen.

"My face is all over the news. I can't go anywhere near that city."

"Give it a couple more weeks. Wait for things to die down a little. _Then_ go back."

He slammed his empty bottle down in frustration. "What about the girl?"

Allen barked out a short laugh. "The girl's gone for now; we'll worry about her later. These two? They'll be easier. Find them."

"Yeah, yeah."

"And Wes?" he said, voice suddenly quiet, deadly serious. "No mistakes this time, okay?"

Weston scowled and slapped some money down on the bar, nodding to the bartender for another. "No mistakes."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks again for reading! Please review! <strong>


	8. Chapter 7

**Important Note: Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out. But it's pretty detailed and _ it's extremely long (16,000 words)_****. In fact, everything about this chapter is long: the flashback, Sam's part, Andy's part. Everything. But I took a poll, and more people wanted to read it all together, versus in 2 parts so... Hopefully, it's worth the wait.**

**This is also the first chapter I've done that comes with "visual aids". A reader suggested to me that I make a character map/list since I have a ridiculous amount of original characters interspersed throughout this whole thing. So, if you check out my profile, there's a link to a Character List. Also, there's a link to a "floor plan" for a building in the second half of this chapter. And no, I really don't have anything better to do with my time :)**

**I should explain something about how this next bunch of chapters are going to be laid out. If I described every single day between now and when our favorite couple might possibly find each other again, we'd all be wading through 35 chapters of tears and misery. So, each chapter will be set 2-4 weeks after the last, giving us 1-2 chapters for each month. I'll do my best to fill in the gaps as they arise. Also, I realized that I'd screwed up the timing right from the start, so I went back and added dates to each of the previous chapters to keep things consistent.**

**Thanks to a bunch of people for the encouragement that was desperately needed for this chapter but especially the following: rookiebluefan89, cocobean2206, tikvarn, SoWritten, this_moment_is_stardust. I appreciate every single one of you :)**

* * *

><p>"<em>Andy?" Sam opened the bathroom door, and steam billowed out as he stepped into the chilly hallway, towel slung low around his hips. She didn't answer. "McNally?" he said, louder this time, wincing as the sound reverberated through his head. He'd had a splitting headache for most of the day. Probably a side effect of clocking only three hours of sleep the night before. Possibly exacerbated by the plastic cup of orange soda that had been accidentally dumped down his back at Nash's kid's party. By the time they'd pulled into his driveway, his neck and back had been sticky, his shirt almost glued to his skin with sugar. And his mood had been iffy at best.<em>

_When they'd let themselves in, and he'd started making his way down the hall to the bathroom, she'd flopped herself down on his sofa, winking as she promised to be alert and ready for action when he got out of the shower. In truth, the action they had planned had more to do with them running a couple of errands than anything even remotely obscene. But he appreciated her attempted lasciviousness. _

_The floor creaked slightly as he walked towards the living room, and he heard a scuffling, a shifting. And when he entered, Andy was turning towards him, back against the dining room table, hands behind her. He narrowed his eyes. Hers were wide, her posture stiff, and she was doing this thing with her mouth, alternatively opening, closing and tugging at her lip with her teeth. She looked guilty._

"_What're you doing?" _

"_Nothing. I, uh…" She folded her arms across her chest. "Nothing." She thrust out a hip, trying to look casual. _

_He took a couple slow steps forward, watching as she shifted a little and threw a rapid fire glance over her shoulder. Covert was not exactly her middle name. Finally, he was right in front of her, leaning over to look behind her. To the cardboard box she was attempting to hide behind her back. Then his eyes went to hers, narrowing slightly._

"_I thought I put that in the hall closet."_

_Her eyes were moving all over the place now, off to the sides of the room, at her hands, at his hands as he took a step back from her and tucked them under his arms. "You did. I just…" She pressed her lips together and ran her hands through her hair nervously. "I just thought maybe if you knew what was in it, you'd want to look."_

_Sam backed up another step until he was leaning back, almost sitting on the back of the sofa. Andy took up the same position on the edge of the table, arms crossed defensively over her chest. Then he rubbed a hand over his face, around to the back of his neck. _

"_Look, I kept it. I didn't want to, but I did, because you told me to." He said it simply, like he was talking to a child and at that, her expression changed, muscles tightening, eyes hardening. _

"_I know that. I-" _

"_And I told you this morning that I didn't care what was in it."_

_She stepped away from the table, revealing the box, the cover clearly askew. "But obviously you do," she argued, holding out her hands._

"_It's private, alright?" It came out as a yell. He hadn't intended that, but there it was. After the shock of the outburst died down, he rose to his feet and then they were standing there, only a few feet between them, looking at each other._

"_Why?" she asked quietly and his eyebrows shot up._

"_Why?" he repeated incredulously. _

_She shrugged, raising her eyebrows. "If it's no big deal, and you don't care, then why is it private?"_

_He just stared at her for a few seconds and then stepped forward, moving past her to settle the lid more firmly on the box before grabbing it and tucking it under his arm. Then he turned on his heel and stalked back to the bedroom. After a second's hesitation, she took off after him, following closely behind. _

_Sam entered the bedroom and went right over to the bedroom closet, throwing the doors open. He stretched, clearing a space on the top shelf, shoving a stack of extra blankets and pillows to the floor. And then he reached, shoving the box up into the empty space. With his foot, he pushed the bedding back into the closet and firmly closed the doors with a sharp snap. _

_She frowned, wrapping her arms around herself nervously. "Look, are you going to talk to me about this?" _

_He snorted and kept his back to her as he pulled fresh clothing from the dresser. He didn't even bother to run the towel over the still damp places on his chest before he pulled on a T-shirt._

"_Sam, just yell at me okay?" Her voice was sounding a little panicked, like she was starting to realize that possibly, she'd overstepped; maybe she'd gone too far. As if reprimanding her would make this all go away._

"_What good would that do, Andy?" Boxers, then jeans were dragged up, and he sat on the bed and pulled on a pair of socks. And then he pushed past her, back out into the hall. She followed him through the house, ending up in the kitchen where she sat down across from him, watching as he loosened the laces on his shoes and put them on. _

"_Why can't you just talk about it? You know all my stuff. My mom and my dad and Luke. And obviously this is important to you. Don't you think I deserve to know__** something**__?"_

_He threw her a look of disbelief. "Why? Because we're sleeping together? Guess again." He stood and brushed past her to grab his jacket off the hook. "Besides, you didn't__** tell**__ me any of that. I found out. It's not the same thing." He kept his eyes off her; he couldn't look at her any longer because the expression on her face was killing him; literally shredding his insides. Her lips were pressed tightly together as she tipped her face down, trying ineffectively to hide the tears that had suddenly sprung to her eyes._

_But he didn't apologize. He was crabby and exhausted and emotionally drained from his encounter with Sarah. Most of the time, it wasn't that bad. They were actually close, when they were getting along. Familiar enough with each other's moods and habits, they'd managed to fall together into a sort of rhythm while they tore up that room. The problem had come later. Sarah had been holding onto their collective family mementos for far too long. For years, they'd cluttered up the basement of their aunt's place, but when Sarah moved out and started her business, she'd taken it all with her. And every time she moved that stuff, she felt the need to sift through it. And for some reason, she always waited until he was there. Like she couldn't bear to do it alone. _

_So she'd drag out the contents of box after box, and they'd pass items between them, and they'd talk. Or rather, Sarah would talk, on and on until Sam either got irritated enough, or upset enough, and then they'd start screaming at each other. All by themselves, the memories weren't that bad. But when recounted by his sister, whose emotions were always far too close to the surface, they became grating, leaving him feeling like he was one huge raw nerve. And that was the real reason he didn't like to go see her. Not because he didn't love her, but because every time he went, he left feeling five years older._

_So, when he saw Andy there, trying to hold in the hurt when he was just starting to put his insides back together, he couldn't handle it. He couldn't fix both of them. So, he left. He walked out the door and down the sidewalk and climbed into his truck. And then he sat there. Didn't put the key in the ignition, didn't put on his belt. Just sat there._

_His arms were up on the steering wheel, and his forehead was tipped against them which was why he didn't see Andy until she wrenched open the door and climbed in. She slipped off her shoes and put her stocking feet up on the ice-cold dash, arms hugging her thighs. And then they __**both**__ just sat there. A minute of silence passed between them, then another, and they were just rounding on the third when they both spoke._

"_I didn't mean it."_

_The words came out of his mouth at the exact same time she breathed out, "I'm sorry." _

_They turned and looked at each other and he said it again. "I didn't mean it the way it came out."_

"_It's okay." She turned forward again, rubbing her hands over her thighs. _

"_It's not." He sat back, closing his eyes briefly. "It's not even about you. I just…" He took a deep breath in and out as pain blossomed behind his eyes. He closed them for a brief moment and then opened them again, squinting against the light from the garage as it shone in over them. "I guess I just overreacted," he finished lamely. He leaned his head back against the headrest then he looked over at her. "You know that's not how I feel about this right? This thing with us? It's more than just…" He shook his head and drew in an unsteady breath. "We're not just sleeping together," he finally finished, knowing that it wasn't enough. That there was more to say. "I don't want you to think that I –"_

"_I don't," she said quickly, cutting him off. He glanced at her again and she continued. "And I shouldn't have gone through your stuff. I knew better." She tucked her hair back and then turned in the seat, pulling her legs up under her. "It's just that…I looked, okay?" She blew out a heavy breath and kept going, words flying faster and faster. "I saw the box in your truck and I looked in it. I'm nosy, and I couldn't help it. And I didn't really see anything. Just one thing. But it was a big thing. And so I thought if I knew more, I could get you to talk about it, and maybe… I don't know. Maybe I could help."_

"_Andy, it was a long time ago. It's not exactly something you can fix."_

"_Well, maybe I could just make it better for you." She paused, waiting for him to say something. "You can't hold it inside forever. Obviously that doesn't work."_

_He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and leaned back against the headrest, letting his hand fall to the console. "I just need to get some rest. I only slept a few hours last night." But neither of them got out of the truck. Neither of them even moved. And then Andy's hand slid into his and he released a heavy breath. His fingers tightened around hers, and then he turned his head to look at her._

"_You know better than anyone that family shit is complicated."_

"_I guess I do."_

_He sat there for a moment, wetting his lips, trying to find a starting place. Maybe even trying to figure it out for himself, where things first started going wrong for them; his family. An origin. _

"_My parents were really young when they got pregnant with Sarah and got married, and I don't know. From what I've heard from Sarah and my aunt, they were barely holding it together when Mom got pregnant again. My dad? He was…" He drew in a heavy breath. "He wasn't a bad guy, but he wasn't anything to write home about. He was always looking for a free ride. Every now and again, he'd come home with a pile of cash. Mom did what she could, but eventually, it ran out. And he'd go get more. I don't know what he told her, but she had to know that he wasn't making it at the factory like he said. Or at the track." He ran his free hand through his hair and glanced at her. Andy was still curled into the seat, eyes trained on him._

"_Anyway, things started falling apart when I was born. Maybe because there was more responsibility, more mouths to feed… I don't know. Maybe she just got sick of his shit. Sick of the lies. A couple months later, she took us and moved us to another part of town and we didn't see him again. It wasn't until I was maybe four or five that he was pulled over driving a stolen car. One of his friends was running a chop shop across town. Apparently they had enough on him to put him away for a long time, but…" Sam pressed his lips together and shrugged. "Maybe he rolled over on someone; maybe he had information on another crime… I don't really know. But he ended up doing only two years in Maplehurst. The first time I actually talked to him? It was in the__visiting room of the prison."_

_He smirked and shook his head. "I'm still not sure how he convinced her to bring me. I guess, maybe he had a change of heart or something. Maybe she was feeling nostalgic. Who the fuck knows? Everything between them was really…" He pressed his lips together in frustration and shook his head. "Whatever it was, they kept it to themselves. But when he got out, he moved back in with us. Which was..." He shrugged. "I guess every kid at that age is glad to have their dad, you know? Even if he just got out of the joint._

"_Anyway, he had trouble finding work. __**Honest**__ work at least. And so Mom had to take a second job, pull double shifts. She was doing okay when it was just me and Sarah, but with him there too, the money just wasn't enough. That went on for a couple of years. Her working 60+ hours a week; him picking up whatever he could." _

_Sam took a second then; again the memories were flooding him. For the second time in twenty-four hours he was feeling himself slowly coming apart. Already frayed at the edges, he was steadily unraveling. He swallowed a few times, reining himself in a little. Snow had started to fall, and without the heat on, it was starting to build up on the windshield. There wasn't enough conversation, enough breath or heat being produced to melt it. And with the light from the garage shining down, it sort of sparkled. Sam watched it collect, dusting over the glass, blowing off in a sort of dry spray when the wind picked up. Then he blinked against the pain throbbing through his head and looked back at her. _

"_You remember what I told you about Sarah?" She nodded, her eyes falling from his face to their hands. She tightened her grip, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. "Well, that night, my dad was out of town. A friend of his threw him a little work, and he'd been gone a week or so. Sarah was at the library. Mom was supposed to pick her up, but at the last minute, she picked up another shift and Sarah had to walk. It wasn't the first time. And if nothing had happened, it probably wouldn't have been the last. But…" Again, he shook his head, suddenly unwilling to even say the words, because saying the words just then would __**end**__ him._

"_But something happened," Andy finished and after a moment, he nodded, taking a deep breath before he continued._

"_After that, things just kind of fell apart. Sarah was…a mess. She could barely stand to leave the house, so she fell behind in school. She'd go days without saying a single word to anyone, and she saw so many shrinks that it didn't seem possible that she wasn't getting any better. But she wasn't. And all that was bad enough. We didn't need any more problems._

"_But my mom blamed herself. She was supposed to be there. And the guilt…" He shook his head. "It just ate her up. She started drinking, and when Sarah didn't get better, she drank more. That went on for a year before she went out one night to pick up groceries. But she didn't go to the store. She went to the bar; and on her way home, she wrapped her car around a tree." _

_Sam lifted his hand, the one that wasn't already locked around Andy's, and turned, stroking over her cheek with his knuckle, pushing the hair out of her face. Her eyes were on him, watching him very closely as the memories passed through his head. "Afterwards, we moved out of Toronto, went to live with our aunt in St. Catharines. My dad's sister. She had a big house and no kids and everyone thought it might be better if we just..." He shrugged again. " And it was. After a while, Sarah started to come around. Carol found her a therapist who wasn't a complete idiot and found a school that would work with her, helped her catch up." He paused for a long moment, and brought Andy's hand up to his mouth, kissed the back of it and then smoothed his thumb over the spot._

"_And after a while, Dad found a real job; full time, an actual paycheck every other week, the whole deal. So, eventually things started to work themselves out. But Sarah…" He took an exasperated breath through his nose and then released it with a strangled laugh. "Mom blamed herself for what happened to Sarah, and Sarah blamed herself for what happened to Mom. And now she just has to go through it, every fucking time. Every time she opens those boxes, she has to relive it. And now that Dad and Carol are gone, she makes me relive it with her. And I'm just tired of it. It's exhausting." He wove his fingers into her hair, combed through it. "So that's it," he said quietly, eyes falling just short of meeting hers. He paused for a long moment, waiting for her to say something, but she remained silent. "Was it everything you thought it would be?" he asked quietly, eyes falling just short of meeting hers._

_Andy was chewing on her bottom lip and she leaned her head to the side, against the headrest as his thumb followed the line of her jaw. What could she possibly say? He waited for it; waited for the pep talk, and the platitudes. But they didn't come. Instead, all she said was, "If you want to throw that stuff away, then you should."_

_He exhaled loudly, mouth curling in a strange smile. Really, it wasn't like he was happy, but the relief of finally being done with it, of making it through the story was reason enough. And the lack of questions, the sudden disappearance of her natural curiosity was a relief. Normally, it was something he enjoyed, but just now…_

_But he shook his head. "No. You were right before. I'll save it for another day. There might be something I need."_

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday, January 26<strong>

Sam exhaled forcefully as he stared down at a _different_ box sitting on his dining room table; his name scrawled across the top in Andy's hurried hand. It'd been in the same place for almost four weeks now, since he'd removed it from her apartment. It was collecting dust as he walked past it every day, giving it nothing more than a passing glance. It was also starting to get to him. Like a ghost hanging out in the corner.

And yet….. He couldn't force himself to do anything more with it than run his hands over the lid. Every morning before work, he'd gotten dressed, brushed his teeth, poured some coffee, and stood at this table, willing himself to just do it. To just open it. Even now, he curled his fingers over the edge, let them shrink away again. And then after a few more seconds, he picked up his coffee and walked away.

He _had_ finally picked through his box from Sarah. He and Andy both, on one of their last nights together. They'd sprawled out on the floor and emptied it, looking through it for a couple of hours and then she'd very neatly packed it all up again, folding newspaper clippings reverently, wrapping them around a short stack of photographs, and tucking them in alongside the other objects from his past. And then, the box had gone back to the bedroom closet where it sat still, waiting for the day when he was ready to look at it again.

So it really shouldn't have been such a difficult thing to do the same with Andy's stuff. But the thought of doing that, of going through her personal things, sorting them dividing them into piles… It seemed all too _final_. Almost like a funeral. A sort of laying to rest.

And he wasn't quite ready to do that just yet.

* * *

><p>Walking into work had gotten easier over the last couple of days. He'd been back on the street less than a month; two weeks off, almost three weeks back. Some days, things were fine. He walked into the station, into the locker room, put on his uniform and did his job. For the most part, or for most of the patrol officers in the division at least, things had pretty much gone back to normal. If it had ever impacted them at all.<p>

For the few of them still involved, normal hadn't quite arrived. It was a little like a bulls-eye. On the outer ring were Diaz, Epstein and Barber. Never actually privy to any vital information, and without the deeper emotional attachment, the rookies went about their day waiting for any hint of news to be tossed their way. And one of Jerry's most admirable qualities, whether intentional or not, was his ability to separate himself. As far as he was concerned, while he was on the job, this was a case, albeit a case that was growing colder every day, but a case nonetheless. Any personal feelings he had for Andy or Simonson were saved for another time, when they wouldn't color the facts.

Next level in, was Shaw. He did his best to hide it, but Sam knew he held a soft spot for Andy. Felt responsible for her in a way that was different from Sam. Like she needed guidance. Almost an unassuming, unintentional sort of father figure. While he may not feel her loss as strongly as others, Sam knew he was shouldering a good deal of guilt over the situation. He was pretty good at hiding it, at treating Sam like he always had. But sometimes Oliver couldn't look him in the eye, which only made them both feel worse.

A little farther in, on the inner ring, was Nash. Sam wasn't yet sure what was behind the looks she'd been giving him. In the three weeks since he'd been back, he hadn't been paired with her, had barely even spoken to her; or she to him. He'd mentioned it to Jerry, just a passing comment, but Barber had sidestepped the question with a simple, "She's just upset." More than a little upset himself, Sam hadn't followed up. At this point, he was pretty sure that it was a sort of mutual avoidance. And avoidance? Well that was something Sam was good at.

He'd been giving it a fair shot. Avoidance. And it'd been working surprisingly well. As long as he kept his head down, kept his mind on the job, he felt like he could probably make it through the days. Obviously the plan was far more effective when patrol was swamped, but under the circumstances, he thought he was holding it together pretty well. At least that was what he told himself.

Deep down, he knew it was a lie. That this was some ill-conceived method of self-preservation. A sort of defense mechanism. He'd even heard Shaw say the word out loud to Jerry the day before when he'd come around a corner unexpectedly. _"Denial."_ Like they both knew that if he was pushed in exactly the right spot with the right amount of force, he'd fold. Just totally fall apart. But denial and avoidance were there for a reason.

Without them, he knew it'd be worse. Even now, he couldn't stand for people to bring it up; her being gone. Not outside the boundaries of the case. He didn't want it shoved down his throat, and at the same time, he was tired of people walking on eggshells around him. It was like everyone had their eye on him, wanted a little piece of him; wanted him to help solve the case, wanted him to grieve, wanted him to just be normal. And Sam was the center of the bulls-eye. There wasn't enough inside him to deal with Andy and everyone else.

The one person he hadn't quite placed was Peck. At first, he'd really no clue what her problem was. Sure, she and Andy were friends, but not on the level that Nash was, not even on the level that Epstein and Diaz were. But she was_ affected_. Far more than Sam would have ever anticipated. She'd been there, of course. Had been in the elevator before the attack, had been in the hospital after Andy had been found. So, at first, he'd thought maybe there was a little commiseration, a sort of understanding no one else could quite touch. But that hadn't been it at all.

He'd only figured it out that day. It wasn't really about Andy at all. It was him. He made her nervous. Even now, as she sat in the driver's seat of the squad car, she was anxious, clutching at the steering wheel, hands damp enough that she was surreptitiously wiping them on her pant legs.

And the way she'd been looking at him... It wasn't in the usual way either. Way before, when McNally was with Callaghan, and Sam was spending his nights alone, Peck used to watch him with this gleam in her eye, like maybe if he asked, she'd have him on his back in her bed in two seconds flat. He couldn't lie to himself about it; at the time, he'd almost been amused by it. He'd nearly taken her up on it that night the rookies had been cut loose. She really _was_ something else; so incredibly sure of herself. Confident. And honestly, as unwelcome as it was at this point in their lives, that look would have been preferable to the ones she was fixing him with lately.

It was so incredibly out of character. She always had this concern plastered over her face, like she was literally waiting for the bottom to fall out. Like she expected him to wait until everyone's backs were turned before he finally melted down. Before he finally snapped. And maybe there was the smallest amount of guilt mixed in. Like maybe she thought he blamed her for what had happened in the basement of the hospital. Which was just so unbelievably fucking stupid. Sam had the file, had _poured _over the file. He must have read the statements from that attack a hundred times; he knew everything he needed to know about that encounter. On the long list of people to blame for that situation, Peck was somewhere near the bottom, way below Best, Callaghan, and hospital security. Even Andy was more at fault than Peck; thinking she could wander around the hospital virtually unprotected. He had absolutely no interest in listening to her explain it to him. So, he let her drive, keeping her mind on the road and on the traffic instead of on him. She needed the distraction. They both did.

There hadn't been a break in the case since he'd been back. The investigation was still on-going, but the machine had slowed. There was only so much information to be wrung from the facts and statements and reports they'd accumulated. And yet, it was always in the back of Sam's mind. Underneath the normal mess of the day, the drunks and the traffic stops and the domestic calls, was a constant stream of: _Where would they be? Who would know? Figure it out._

And so when he got the call that day, four hours into their shift, before he started feeling his heart pound and the addictive feeling of adrenaline coursing through his blood, he actually slumped back into the seat in relief. Jerry, of course, was on the other end.

"Sammy. With Peck today?"

He didn't even look over. "Yeah."

"I need you to head over to Toronto East General Hospital. Got a witness that needs to be questioned."

"Is this about-"

"Yep. Listen, did you ever meet Sasha Rieger?"

It took Sam a few seconds to place the name. "Evan Malone's girlfriend?" Her image flashed once in his brain. "Yeah. I went over to their place a few times."

"So, she'd recognize you?"

Considering she'd practically thrown herself at him the instant the brothers left the room to make a phone call? Probably. "Uh, yeah."

"Well, go over anyway. Let Peck talk to her. Find out exactly what happened. Every detail. Everything she can think to ask."

Sam frowned. "What_ did_ happen?"

"Dispatch got the call an hour ago. Responding officers from that division recognized the perp's description from a list that's been circulating and called it in to me." He heard Jerry's low chuckle. "Our guy's back."

"Weston?" At the mention of his name, Peck's eyes slid over to his and this time, he met her gaze.

"Yep."

"And he didn't kill her? Guy's slipping."

"This one was on purpose. Tied her to the wall and left her there for the neighbors to find."

"Shit. Nice guy." He rubbed at his eyes and leaned back against the seat. "So, where is he now?"

"Don't know yet. Go talk to Reiger and then get back to me."

Sam tucked the phone back into his pocket and quirked an eyebrow at Peck. "Get us to East General." Then thinking better of it, he added, "Do it fast." Then he reached between them and flipped the switches for the lights and sirens.

* * *

><p>A half hour later, Peck was inside Rieger's hospital room while Sam stood out in the hallway, going over the responding officer's notes. The basic circumstances of the encounter were pretty simple. Rieger had been home, getting ready for a long night slinging beer and tequila at the neighborhood dive when Weston knocked on the door. She didn't recognize him, had never met him, and when he tried to push his way into the apartment, she'd resisted. But he'd overpowered her, giving her a hard tap to the chin that had knocked her out in an instant. When she came to, both hands were cuffed to the radiator and Weston was trashing the apartment. He'd slapped her around a little bit until she told him what he wanted to know and then left again, cranking up the television and locking the door behind him when he went.<p>

Apparently she'd banged her feet on the floor and screamed for a good hour before she realized her neighbors weren't home. She kept it up whenever she thought she heard movement, but it wasn't until almost 36 hours later that someone finally called the cops, complaining about the noise.

Sam scribbled the more important points into his own notebook and then gave them instructions to forward copies of their reports to Barber at Fifteen, and walked away, up to Peck who'd just come out of the patient's room.

"Let's hear it."

She started flipping through pages, then recounted the same story he'd already heard. They walked quickly down the hall while she talked, finally ending up back in the squad car. Then he stopped her.

"Responding officers said she refused to give up the information she spilled to Weston."

Peck arched a brow. "She told me."

Sam cut his eyes over to her sharply and then shook his head. "Do I even want to know?"

She shrugged. "I threatened to toss her ass in jail. Obstruction of justice is still a crime, isn't it?"

He snorted. "So what'd you find out?"

She held her notebook in one hand and smirked as she patted it against the palm of the other. "The Malones are in Belleville."

* * *

><p>After a quick call to Jerry, they got on the road, Sam behind the wheel this time. As they sped away from the city, headed east, they went over her statement, taking their time with it.<p>

"So, after they lost their chance with Andy, they stopped at home, packed a few bags and took off?"

Peck nodded. "Yup. Rieger says she came home and the apartment looked like it had been ransacked. Apparently they'd torn the place apart trying to get all their stuff together. She said that when she talked to the cops the first time, she really_ didn't_ know where they were. But they called a week ago, gave her the address. She was supposed to go up and see Evan this weekend. Apparently he's not doing so well." She said the words slowly, letting them roll over her tongue as she arched a brow.

"What do you mean?"

Peck looked at him, a sly smile playing over her face. "She said he's got a pretty massive facial injury. Or at least he did."

Sam pounded his fist on the top of the steering wheel as his face cracked in a grin. Finally, some answers.

Peck went on. "Doctors fixed him up, no surgery, but when she talked to him, he sounded like he was pretty messed up. Guess he used to have problems with pain killers in the past. That's why she was going to see him. Bring him back, straighten him out."

"And the other one?"

She glanced down at her notes. "Chris Malone. He's there too. They're staying with their sister."

Sam frowned, trying to remember the histories he'd read, conversations they'd had. "They don't have any family. Couple of cousins in the city. That's it. You guys already checked them out."

She shook her head. "Their dad got a girl pregnant when he was in high school, then left her high and dry. This is _her_ kid. Half-sister."

Sam frowned a little, puzzled. "They're in contact?"

"Yeah, it's a little weird. Rieger says that she contacted them when she was in college. They were just finishing up high school and they met a few times, and now…" She shrugged. "I guess they see each other a few times a year. Stop by whenever they're in town."

"Did we get an actual address for uh… What's her name?"

"Gates. Marla Gates." She nodded. "Rieger couldn't remember it off the top of her head, but I called it in when you were on the phone with Barber. Belleville Patrol should be meeting us there."

Sam took a deep breath and then after turning it all over in his head for a few moments, he nodded, pressing down on the accelerator a little more firmly. "Call them back. Tell them to go over now. Knock down the door, force their way in, whatever they have to do."

"Why?"

He looked over at her, eyebrows raised. "Because she gave Weston that information more than two days ago. He's not going to wait around to make a move. He's probably already been there."

After she made the call, they sped along in silence for another ten minutes or so, the radio chattering away. And then Sam heard Peck clear her throat nervously. She kept her eyes forward, but her fingers drummed on her knee, pinky to forefinger, again and again.

After a solid minute of that, and then after a couple rapid-fire glances in his direction, he'd had enough.

"Spit it out, Peck."

"Sir?"

"You've been looking at me like I'm going to chew you out. Do I have a reason to?"

"No, sir. I just," she paused, and tucked a chunk of blonde hair behind her ear. "I wanted to talk to you about something. About Andy."

He didn't answer her for a long moment. He'd been doing remarkably well up until this point. At least he'd thought so. In fact, he had been able to keep her out of this whole day, had been able to focus on the victim and the reports and the notes. But the very mention of her name brought everything rocketing back to the forefront of his mind. He blinked a few times and then tightened his fingers around the steering wheel.

"Does it have to do with the case? With what we're doing today?"

She shook her head. "Not really."

He flashed her a weak grin. "Then I don't wanna hear about it."

"But sir, I…" She trailed off as he pressed his lips together and gave his head a shake.

"I can't, okay?" he said, giving her a hard stare. And after a second, she nodded silently. He kept an eye on her as she leaned back into the seat and finally, seemed to relax a little, face turned towards the window. Only then did he release his death grip on the steering wheel, noting with some embarrassment that as he ran his fingers through his hair, his hand shook.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until much later in the day that they returned to Toronto. The whole trip had pretty much been a bust. He'd felt the dread rising in his gut for the entire drive, felt it tightening in his throat as they hit the Belleville city limits. By the time they'd reached the house, the entire property had been cordoned off by police. Yellow tape separated the gathering spectators from the cops and EMS doing their business in and around the house. There hadn't been much to see.<p>

Sam and Peck had been led into the house, all the way to the tiny bedroom set up in the back. At one point it must have been Marla Gates' study, because crammed in around the perimeter of the lone mattress was a desktop computer perched on a massive put-it-together-yourself type of desk and a set of filing cabinets. On the mattress was a rather large blood stain, and a rather large corpse. Evan Malone didn't even look like he'd been awake when he'd been shot. He was on his back, eyes closed, fist curled around the tail of a quilt spread over him. He also had a small bullet hole right in the low center of his forehead.

The rest of the house hadn't been disturbed as far as anyone could tell. It wasn't large, but it was clean and well-cared for, full of comfortable furniture, brightly-colored pictures. It looked lived-in and loved. But it had_ stuff_ in it. All over, in fact. It wasn't messy, but the shelves in the living room were crammed full of books and videos. The dining room table was stacked with piles of papers, projects that had been started and abandoned. If someone had moved any of Gates' possessions, Sam was pretty sure she wouldn't even notice.

Marla Gates was sitting at the kitchen table, still in a pair of lavender scrubs, hands shaking as she wrapped them around a cup of coffee. She'd been late coming home that day. There had been a difficult patient and she'd had to stay a little longer. As a result, she'd been out of the house when the attack supposedly happened. She'd returned home to find her house besieged with cops. Gates lifted a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear and Sam felt his stomach turn over. Just at this angle, just for a second, she'd borne a striking resemblance to Andy. Really, they didn't look too much alike. Her hair was curly where Andy's was straight, her frame was slightly narrower, and she had a spattering of freckles across her cheeks. But the pointy nose, and the arch of her brows was the same. Then she turned her head, and the similarities were gone. But he must have made a noise, made a face, _reacted_ in some way, because Peck was looking at him again.

They finished up quickly after that; asked some questions, took some notes, and exchanged contact information with the officers at the scene. Then they went back outside. Sam took his time scanning the crowd. The whole neighborhood was turning out, hoping to get a glimpse. But he didn't see any familiar faces, so they got back in the car and headed home. Their shift had been finished for well over an hour by the time they'd returned to the station, but Sam stayed anyway, quickly typing up everything they'd learned that evening. Then he printed it out two copies: one for the official file, and one for himself. Ten minutes later, he was changed and was out the door.

He made one quick stop for some food and another at his house and then headed over to Church Street, and pulled onto a cross street, and parked at the curb. Sam stacked the file on top of the pizza box, stuck two cans of Coke into his coat pockets and locked up his truck. He climbed the stairs slowly, feeling the weight of the day settle over him. He was suddenly tired, very tired. But he kept climbing, then stopped at the door at the top of the stairs.

He hammered on it twice, loudly with his fist, and when it swung open, Sam flashed a weary grin and walked into the apartment past Tommy McNally.

"Back again, eh Swarek?"

He bobbed his eyebrows. "Couldn't stay away." He moved directly to the living room, set the box on the coffee table and pulled the cans out of his pockets. "Hungry?"

Tommy nodded. "Yeah. I could eat." He gestured to the chair near the window and Sam unzipped his jacket, tossed it over the arm and then sat down. He reached over and slid the file off, and tucked it between his thigh and the chair. Tommy nodded at it as he flipped open the box. "You got something new?"

Sam nodded and reached over, switching on the ugly green lamp. "Had a little break in the case today." Then he leaned forward and grabbed a slice. "Let's eat first."

Tommy looked at him for a long moment and then nodded, turning up the volume on the television. The sound of a basketball game filled the apartment and Sam stretched his legs out, slouching back into the chair a little as he chewed.

"This is Andy's favorite," Tommy said suddenly as he chose a piece, and Sam looked at him, and then down at the pizza in his hand. He hadn't even realized. He'd known, of course, what her favorite was. But he hadn't realized that he'd just ordered their default. Half supreme, half pepperoni and pineapple.

His eyebrows drew together. "Yeah. I… I forgot, I guess." He ran a hand over the back of his head, and stared down at it, appetite suddenly waning. He tossed the remainder of the slice down into the box and wiped his hands on a napkin, then folded his arms and looked back towards the television.

For a few minutes neither of them said anything. Tommy plowed through a couple of slices and cracked open his Coke. Finally, he crunched the empty can a little in his hand and set it aside, crumpled napkin resting on top, and then he turned to Sam. "Alright. Let's do it."

Sam reached over and slapped a button on the television, lowering the volume, and then passed Tommy the file. "I only got copies of my notes, some of the things I heard from the others. The reports aren't filed yet."

"Run through it," Tommy said as he started paging through.

"Sasha Rieger was seeing Evan Malone. They shared a two bedroom here in Toronto with his brother. Up until today, this has been a dead end for us. She swore up and down that she hadn't heard from them, had no clue where they were."

"And now?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Well…. I guess being handcuffed to a radiator makes you open up."

"What?"

"Apparently, we're not the only ones looking for the Malones. And they must be getting desperate. Weston literally _knocked on her door_ and when she opened up, forced his way in. He roughed her up a little and handcuffed her to the radiator."

"She alive?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, actually, he didn't hurt her that bad. She gave 'em up right away. At their half-sister's in Belleville." He took a swig from his Coke. "He left her there though, tied up. Phone was across the apartment and the television was on kind of loud. Neighbors didn't hear a thing; they didn't find her for almost two days."

Tommy glanced at him. "She's in the hospital?" Sam nodded. "So, what happened in Belleville?"

Sam leaned back in the chair and crossed his foot over his knee. "Evan Malone was shot. He was doped up on painkillers, probably passed out. Didn't even see it coming."

"And the other one?"

"Gone. Half-sister, uh…" He leaned forward and glanced at the sheet on top. "Marla. Says he was never there. But she's lying; these two never went anywhere alone." He folded his arms across his chest. "My best guess? Weston went in thinking they were both there. He found Evan first and shot him before he could make any noise, before he could warn anyone else in the house. And then Weston went looking for Chris."

"He find him?"

Sam shook his head. "Don't know. No signs of a struggle, but none of his belongings were there either. I think he came in afterwards, after Weston left. He found his brother, called the cops and split."

"He called the cops?" Tommy asked, his voice lilting a little in disbelief.

Sam nodded. "Sometime between when we called, and when we got to the scene, someone called dispatch from that house. Used the cordless phone in the kitchen, dialed 911, and left it on the kitchen counter. They probably would have thought it was a crank call if we hadn't already asked them to check out the house."

Tommy grabbed the pizza box and set it on the floor and then spread the pages out across the table. Sam kept his eyes on him, watching him work it all out, but hesitated before telling him anymore. After a long moment, Tommy looked up at him.

"What?"

"Have you uh…" Sam shifted uncomfortably. "Have you heard anything? From Stone?"

Tommy's hands froze on the papers, just for an instant. More of a pause, really. And then he went back to rearranging things. "I got a phone call this morning."

"And?"

Tommy swept a hand over his face, rubbing at his cheek for a moment, stalling. "Ah, Swarek…" He shook his head. "You know I'm not supposed to say anything."

"Fuck that."

Andy's dad barked out a laugh and then nodded his head. "She's okay. Tomorrow's a big day for her," he said quietly.

Sam drew in a breath through his nose as he leaned back in the chair. "What happens tomorrow?" Tommy just kept reading, pretending he hadn't heard him. "Did she say anything else?" he asked, trying again.

Tommy shook his head. "Not really." Sam glanced at him. He didn't know Andy's dad as well as he probably should have; at least not on a personal level. They hadn't quite gotten around to the whole "introducing the boyfriend" dinner before he'd gone under. Obviously, they were familiar with each other from when Tommy was on the job, and from sporadic interactions since then. But Tommy had been a cop for too long; he knew how to hold things back. While he might have become emotional and loose-lipped after a few drinks, just now, stone-cold sober and focused on his daughter's case, he wasn't giving anything away.

Sam leaned forward again, braced his arms on his knees as he snagged a piece of paper from the table and started scanning it. Peck's notes from Rieger's interview. They sat there in silence for a few minutes, reading, rereading. Every now and then, one of them would grab a pen from the jar on the end table and make a note. Sam certainly wasn't expecting it when Tommy spoke.

"You miss her." He said it quietly, with absolutely no preamble; a flat statement, no question. He just hit him with it.

Sam's hands froze, gripping the sheet of paper, and the words suddenly blurred, just for an instant. And then he blinked and gave a short nod as he pressed his lips together. "Yeah."

Tommy still had his head down, had his eyes on the file. But he gave a short laugh. "Me too." They sat there quietly for a long moment, neither of them reading a word, neither of them listening to the game. And then Tommy laughed again, louder this time. "God, she's a pain in the ass."

Sam felt the laugh bubble out of him before he could help it, and he flashed his dimples as he nodded. "Yeah, she is." He took a deep breath, and another, and then he felt a little better. A little lighter. He nodded to the pizza box. "Grab that for me?"

Tommy passed it to him and Sam grabbed his piece out and shoved the box out of the way as he went back to his reading.

Tommy cleared his throat. "You talk to Callaghan yet?"

Sam grimaced and shook his head.

"Nope." It wasn't for lack of trying. Callaghan had been back from suspension for two weeks and had been permanently pulled from the case. He spent most of his time at the station holed up in his office. There weren't many who truly understood his role in what had happened, but those who did were giving him the cold shoulder, at least personally. Sam had made several attempts to corner him in his office, but the one of the downsides of being constantly under a microscope was that people started to anticipate your movements. Every time he'd made his way over there, someone found an excuse to derail him. Shaw with lunch plans, or Jerry with a new theory on the case.

"Maybe we should head over there now," Tommy suggested, a smile curling his lips. "You know, beat the shit out of him."

Sam grinned. "You think I can't handle it by myself?" He shoved the last bite of crust into his mouth; chewed and swallowed.

"Wouldn't be fair to an old man if you had all the fun."

Sam squeezed his right hand into a fist and rubbed it hard with his left. The thought was all too tempting. He shook his head; relaxed his hands. "If we both go down for assault, they'll never figure this shit out." He was only partly joking. He snatched up his pen and after making a few more notes, he felt Tommy looking at him. "What?"

"So, Evan Malone is dead. Sasha Rieger is in the hospital, her apartment is trashed. Weston is in the area, and Bishop and Allen are in the wind."

"Yeah?" Sam said in a disinterested tone.

"So the real question, right now anyway, is where the hell is Chris Malone?"

* * *

><p><strong>Friday, January 27<strong>

Andy pulled her coat more tightly around her and she looked up and down the street. It was midmorning and traffic on the street was light, so she stepped off the curb and crossed. She was later than she meant to be. Well, actually, Stone was earlier than usual. But either way, her ass was grass if she didn't get back to the apartment in three minutes. She hurried up the concrete steps and dug out her key, forcing it into the lock and twisting, letting herself into the building. She didn't even glance at the elevator as she walked past it and stepped onto the stairs.

The building was old, covered in large beige and maroon stones. Probably a hundred years old, Andy could almost always hear people moving around, the wooden floor creaking as they walked through their apartments. She picked up the pace, hoofing it all the way up to the fourth floor and dug out the disposable cell phone Stone had bought her three weeks before. Flashing on the screen was a notice for the two missed calls she'd silenced and a text message left almost a quarter of an hour ago. "Why aren't you answering? I'll be there in 15 min." She had maybe a minute and a half left. Stone's most irritating quality was her ability to be on time no matter what. She'd probably never been late for anything.

Andy finally stepped onto the fourth floor, breath coming hard, face flushed and her feet pounded against the floor as she ran down the hall to her door and slid to a stop in front of it. She forced her key into the lock and let herself in, slamming it quickly behind her. Then she started covering her tracks. The coat came off, tossed in the corner along with her shoes and hat and mittens. She ran a brush through her hair and rubbed her cheeks, trying to take some of the chill and redness out of her skin. Then, she dropped her jeans in a pile on the floor, shimmied out of her sweater and pulled her pajamas on over her bra and underwear. Finally, she climbed up on the bed, wrapped the blanket around herself and snatched up the remote, clicking on the television as a knock sounded at her door. Andy gave it a few seconds and then as the knock came again, along with "Open up" called in a concerned voice, she slid off the bed and padded over to the door in her socks.

She opened it and Stone pushed past her, nearly crackling with angry energy.

"Would it kill you to answer your phone, for God's sake? I thought I was going to have to shoot the lock out when I got here."

Andy snorted. "Yeah right." Stone raised an eyebrow and pulled back her coat, revealing the sidearm sitting at her hip. "Whatever," Andy muttered, sitting back down on the bed.

"Charming as always, I see." She stood in front of Andy, hands on her hips. "Why are you so sweaty?"

Andy's hand moved to her face, to her forehead, slick with sweat from her run up the stairs, and then she shrugged. "It's hot in here." To prove her point, she leaned over to the window and flung it open, letting the cold blast through the room. She turned back to Stone who was wearing a suspicious expression. Then she raised her eyebrows and put her hands on her hips.

"Well, are you at least ready to go?"

"Go where?"

Stone pressed her lips together in frustration then walked over to the dresser and picked up the disposable cell that Andy had tossed there on her way in. "You have this for a reason. If you bothered to answer it or check your messages, you'd already know. I got you a house." She spread her arms wide and gave her a huge smile. "So let's go."

It took them only about ten minutes to put the room back together and pack up Andy's belongings. She'd checked into the efficiency apartment three weeks before. Stone had paid a flat fee every Monday for what was essentially a 12x12 foot room with a closet of a bathroom. Andy could literally stand in the shower and turn on the sink and flush the toilet all at the same time. It had been partially furnished with a twin bed, a dresser and a small 90's model television. It was better than nothing, but still, she wouldn't miss it.

Stone and McBride kept their distance for the most part. Though Stone didn't stay there, she stopped by at least once a day, sometimes over lunch, but usually in the evenings, depending on her duties for the day. She always brought dinner and they talked, or rather, Stone talked and Andy listened, only giving input when asked. It'd taken Andy a couple of nights of this to realize that Stone was trying to draw her out, to keep her from sinking into a sort of antisocial, withdrawn sort of purgatory. Some days, she played along, gave in and offered up a personal anecdote or an opinion. Other days, she preferred to wallow. And still other days, she was belligerent. But they'd managed to find a balance. When Andy was civil, everything went smoothly, but when she was a brat, Stone let her know it. Although it was irritating, it was embarrassingly comforting to know that no matter what she said to her, Stone would keep coming back. Although it wasn't a perfect scenario, she would keep doing her job and keep doing her best to protect her.

But she couldn't help her sleep. She was still having problems with noises. Especially in a building that creaked when it was hit with a strong wind. Her neighbors were quiet during the week, but on the weekends, everyone went out to the bars and stumbled home at all hours of the night. Sometimes they shouted, sometimes they fell against the wall, jostling her out of a dead sleep. Other times, they'd mistakenly grab her door knob instead of their own, which set her heart racing. Sometimes, she'd manage to convince herself that she wasn't scared any more, and then that would happen, and her eyes would fly to the lock, praying she'd remembered to flip it. And then she wouldn't sleep all night waiting for the next drunk ass to come down the hall.

Around three or four in the morning, it was usually still loud. The problem was her location. Her room was on the alley side, and on either side, the buildings on the block were stacked right next to each other, none of them less than five stories. It created a sort of channel and in the middle of the night, when traffic was lighter, sound bounced around, echoing off the brick faces. She could hear people's voices, hear them walking, their footsteps crunching on the ice and snow below her window, and inevitably, she'd end up at the foot of the bed next to the window, looking out, trying to make out faces.

She'd stay awake until the sun came up, and then, she'd crash out for a few hours. Same as she'd been doing since she left Toronto. The noises were a large part of the reason Stone had chosen to move her out of the city.

Andy yawned as she stripped her sheets from the bed and stuffed them into her duffel. Stone was emptying drawers, quickly transferring small piles of clothing into her rolling suitcase. She finished up and moved it over to the door, then glanced down at the floor and then back at Andy.

"Why are your shoes wet?"

Andy's eyes snapped up to hers. "What?"

"If you've been in bed the whole morning, why are your shoes wet?"

Andy looked at her for a second too long and then dropped her eyes back to what she'd been doing. "I just went outside for a minute. Needed some fresh air."

"Is that all?" Her voice held a hundred pounds of warning and Andy nodded.

"Yeah. That's it."

"Andy…"

"Look, I swear. Okay? I didn't go back."

"You better not have," Stone muttered and then walked into the bathroom. Andy heard rattling and some rustling and she exhaled in relief.

When they'd come to Vancouver, when Andy had moved into temporary housing, Stone had relaxed a little. Andy was allowed to go out, to wander around, act like a normal person. Truthfully, it had taken her a while to gather up the courage to go out by herself after a few weeks of being escorted everywhere by her two very own armed body guards. Even three thousand kilometers away from Toronto, she felt eyes on her. Felt a cold prickle on the back of her neck. She felt vulnerable without Stone. But eventually, eight days after she'd arrived, she'd gone for a walk.

The rules were simple. She wasn't supposed to be out after dark. She wasn't supposed to leave her building or a restaurant or any other sort of establishment with anyone other than Stone or McBride. She was supposed to check in if she decided to leave, supposed to report her location whenever it changed. And of course, she wasn't supposed to do anything that could trace back to her old life. What Stone hadn't told Andy was that she had McBride keeping an eye on her while she was at the office.

And he had watched as Andy walked into the internet café down the street and ordered a coffee and sat down at a computer. She kept telling herself she hadn't gone in there intending to break the rules. She'd sat down, scanned the room, saw it was mostly empty and then just taken a seat at the counter by the window. Her Facebook and Twitter accounts had been closed as well as her email accounts. So, when she opened the browser, she realized she had nothing to do. But she started surfing. She ended up on the site for the Toronto Star. And then, after a surprisingly short amount of time, she'd found herself opening a new email account.

Sam had said not to call, but he'd never said anything about email. So, she typed up a short message, intending to send it to both Sam and Traci, just to let them know she was okay. And that was where she ran into problems. She knew Traci had a personal email account, but considering that up until recently, they'd not only seen each other every day, but also corresponded through the email provided by the Toronto Police Service, she had no damn clue what it was.

The departmental email addresses were even more difficult. They were made up of a series of letters and numbers; the first four letters of the last name, the first letter of the first name, and then four numbers. But she couldn't remember the numbers. Back at work, she must have emailed them each a thousand times, but every time, she'd just hit "Reply" or searched for their name in the directory. Twice, she gave it a shot, entering the numbers she saw in her head, and twice, the emails bounced back, undeliverable. Twice, because as she moved to hit "Send" a third time, she saw movement out the window. A tall blonde guy in a suit was climbing out of a dark sedan parked at the curb; McBride. It would have looked innocent, maybe even coincidental, if he hadn't whipped his sunglasses off and focused his eyes directly on hers through the glass. Andy had immediately closed the window and then cleared the cache and history before shutting down the computer entirely.

And of course, he'd talked to his partner. Stone knew she'd been on the computer, but without confiscating it from the coffee shop, she couldn't prove Andy had done anything wrong. She gave her a strongly-voiced lecture, reminding her of her signature on the protection agreement and then she'd banned her from the coffee shop.

It'd taken almost another week before McBride backed off; hopefully convinced Andy wasn't going to do it again. But early this morning, on their way down to the bus, the neighbor's kids had raced past her door, waking her from a light doze and scattered dreams of Sam, and she'd impulsively decided to give it another shot. So, she'd quickly dressed and gone back to the coffee shop to try again; without success.

As Andy was setting her duffel next to the door, Stone came through the bathroom door and fixed her with a curious look. "You have to know that companies generally monitor the internet activity and emails of their employees, right?" Andy just stared at her. "And by companies, I also mean government facilities. Like police stations?" She quirked an eyebrow. "And in this situation… If you made the mistake of contacting someone, I'd know within the hour and then you and I would have problems." Andy just gave her a disinterested look and turned away. And then as Stone moved behind her, switching the television off, Andy twisted her fingers together as her heart slowed and she thanked God for her terrible memory. It honestly hadn't even occurred to her; she wasn't being smart. It would only take one ill-thought out plan and one click of a button to destroy Sam's career and jeopardize her own safety. She jumped when Stone spoke behind her.

"Look, I know that I can't reasonably expect you to stay away from computers and the internet, and that it's gotta be tempting to get on some site and take a look at parts of your old life, to just send your friends some anonymous note. But you can't do that. And I have to know that I can trust you." Andy stood still as a statue as Stone paused. "If I can't trust you, there's no point in me working so hard." Again, silence. And then, quietly, "Andy? Are you hearing me?"

Andy bit her lip and then nodded, still facing the door. "Yeah," she croaked, her voice suddenly thick. "Yeah, I hear you." She looked over her shoulder and met her eyes. "You can trust me."

"Alright then. I think that's everything. Let's get you moved." They each grabbed a bag and Andy snagged her coat and they left. It'd been over a month since she'd seen anyone from her old life, and now, as she shouldered her duffel, and walked out of the empty apartment, she was distancing herself even more. Even more than flying out of Toronto, or stuffing her new identification into her wallet, this day seemed like the dividing point. The real line between Andy McNally, and Abby McAllister.

* * *

><p>"How's the cover story coming?" Stone asked as she accelerated, merging onto the highway, headed east, and then lifted her massive iced coffee out of the cup holder. Andy slipped her sunglasses on and lifted a shoulder in a shrug.<p>

"Needed a change. Moved here."

"But why?"

"Why?" Andy repeated, looking over at her.

"Yeah. People will ask. People are nosy. They're going to want to know every little detail." She paused and glanced over. "So what was it? Family? Job? Money? A breakup?" she said the last one tentatively. Stone barely ever mentioned Sam. In fact, she very pointedly refused to even say his name; as if she thought that the simple act of speaking of him would cause Andy to just melt down.

But other than stiffening slightly in her seat, Andy didn't react. "Uh… Well, family, I guess. Maybe I have a sick relative in the city?"

"You're going to have to figure this out, Andy," Stone warned, as she passed a semi. Andy watched as the landscape slowly changed from city to country and leaned back in her seat.

"I will. Quit pushing."

"Well, it seems like you need a little push. You have exactly fifty-five minutes to put it all together. And it needs to be believable."

"I thought I should keep it simple. So I can keep it straight."

"That's fine, but it needs to have enough personal detail to make it seem real." She looked over again. "You okay?"

"I'm exhausted."

"Drink more coffee. We haven't even started yet. Today's going to be hell. The first day always is," she murmured, almost to herself.

They drove in silence for a while. Andy scanned around on the radio, finally settling on something that sounded like a college station that was slowly fading out. As the static finally took over, Stone reached over and switched it off.

"Listen," she began, her voice suddenly very serious. "I have some news for you, but it's not happy."

"What is it?" she asked, her voice a little uneasy.

"It's only going to make the day seem heavier. Maybe you want to wait until you get settled?"

Andy bit her lip and shook her head. "Just tell me."

Stone chewed on the end of her straw for a moment and then set the cup down. "Your partner? Terry Simonson? He died this morning." She checked Andy's face, looking for some sort of reaction. But again, nothing. "I got the call right before I picked you up." Her eyes moved back towards the road.

Behind her sunglasses, Andy was blinking rapidly. She breathed deeply and tipped her head down slightly, looking at her hands shaking in her lap. She clutched them together, tightly. She was ashamed. When Stone said she'd had news, Andy's mind had gone immediately to Sam; had wondered what happened to Sam. And now, she was ashamed, because of the flood of relief that was washing over her from head to toe. She should have been sad, but she hadn't quite gotten there yet.

"He held on a long time, I guess," Stone said, trying to draw her out. "I heard that the doctor's didn't think he'd last a week."

"And now Weston is a cop killer," Andy muttered to herself. The guilt was starting to creep in. Which was better; more acceptable. She leaned her head against the window, tracing her finger through the condensation. "How's his family doing? He has a little boy…"

"They didn't say."

"Who'd you talk to?"

"The information goes through two or three other people before it gets to me." She gave her a small smile. "So, no one you know."

* * *

><p>At the end of the fifty-five minutes, Stone was rolling the car into town. As they passed the city limits, Andy watched the sign pass. Willow Bend City Limits; pop: 9837. <em>About to be 9838<em>, Andy thought. They were coming in on what must have been the main drag, a divided highway running past the usual store fronts: antiques, hardward, a vast array of gas stations, a Canadian Tire, a scattering of fast food joints.

Even in the middle of the city, there were trees stacked together. Clustered in between buildings, bunched in the larger medians. All different kinds of trees. Conifers and deciduous alike. Andy didn't know the names. She could tell an oak from an aspen, or a cottonwood from a dogwood, but she didn't know the different types of each.

Stone tapped the GPS, turning the volume up as the mechanical voice started speaking.

"I thought you've been here before," Andy said.

"I have. I was here last week setting all this up. And I dated a guy from this town when I was in high school." She grinned over at Andy, whose mouth was twitching into a smile. "It's a little bigger than it used to be, but it's still a nice little town. Safe."

They'd driven through a significant amount of town, crossing a bridge that stretched over a narrow, frozen river, lined with trees hanging way out over the banks. And then, she turned off the main road and onto a heavily shaded street. Andy watched the houses and yards pass by. It was a weekday, still pretty early in the morning, but the buses had come and gone, and most of the adults had already left for work. The streets were quiet. And surprisingly clear for January. In fact, the sky was bright, bright blue and the sun was shining. If she didn't know how cold it was, she'd swear it was spring.

"Why isn't there any snow?" she asked.

Stone shrugged. "I told you. I'd do what I could."

Andy laughed a little. "I don't think you can really take credit for the weather."

"Why not? Is someone else taking credit for it?" Andy rolled her eyes. "Here." She pointed and Andy followed her finger down to the end of the street. "Juniper Drive." She turned left onto the new street, and slowed down.

Andy looked around. The street wasn't long. There were maybe half a dozen houses on each side, stretching down around a gentle curve to the right. Looking past the yards, it was easy to see that they were on the very edge of town. When Andy stared down past the end of the street, she saw only dark green; a sea of evergreen forest.

Each yard was separated by a thick stand of trees, providing natural barriers between the houses. There was no one moving around on this street either. All the houses looked well-maintained, not affluent, but not poverty-stricken either. It looked like a very nice neighborhood.

Stone slowed even more, and turned the car into the last driveway on the left. In the corner of the yard, near the mailbox, there was a sign that said "Willow Bend Rentals," and parked on the right side of the driveway was a flashy-looking red sports car.

"Is that mine?" Andy asked with a grin.

Stone snorted. "Absolutely not. That belongs to the representative from the rental company. They own this property and a few others around town." She turned the car off and gathered her stuff and Andy snatched up her shoulder bag, slinging it over her shoulder and chest as she climbed out of the car.

The house itself wasn't anything too impressive. A one-story ranch with a two-car garage. It was a yellowy-cream color with a cement staircase stuck right between a large picture window and a bay window. The door above the staircase was bright cobalt blue, as was the storm door set into the garage.

"Andy." Stone said quietly, tipping her head towards the house. Andy fell in step next to her and they walked up, letting themselves in through the garage. Inside, there was empty metal shelving set up against the far wall, but other than that, not a whole lot. Straight ahead on the left was another set of concrete steps and a very simple iron handrail. Stone was walking up the steps and she paused with her hand on the doorknob to look back at Andy. "Are you ready?"

Andy met her eyes and after a moment, she gave a small smile and nodded. "Yeah. Let's do it."

She followed her up the stairs and through the door and stopped.

Directly ahead of her was an open doorway. Andy glanced down, at the wooden steps leading down.

"It's a full basement," a woman said, and Andy looked up, craning her neck to see around Stone. The woman was tall, with dark, dark brown hair, and smooth olive skin. "Hi, I'm Mary Beth Fuller. I'm with Willow Bend Rentals." She stuck out her hand and Stone shook it and introduced herself as Jill _Smith_, and then Mary Beth reached around her to Andy who took her hand carefully. The woman was strong; her grip was firm and the shake brisk. "Full basement, unfinished of course. But there's a washer and dryer down there. And tons of space." She flashed a smile, complete with straight white teeth.

Stone moved past her to the right, into the kitchen, and Andy followed. The kitchen was decent sized. Andy rotated right to left. A little bit of counter, a white French-door refrigerator, more counter, lazy-Susan around the corner, then a white stove, a bit more counter, a large stainless-steel sink with a small window set above it, and then more counter space in the form of a large peninsula that divided this room from the dining room. The counter tops were some sort of fake gray and pink speckled granite, and all the appliances were new-looking. Cabinets were spread out in the same U-shape, above and below, made out of very smooth, light–colored wood. Andy turned further. On the wall set against the basement stairs was a large pantry stretching the entire length of the kitchen, made out of the same wood as the cabinets.

She glanced at Stone who quirked an eyebrow at her and mouthed_ "Not bad."_ Andy gave her a shrug, then she moved into the dining room. As she stepped out of the kitchen, the flooring changed from vinyl to a darkly-stained hardwood; each piece a good three inches wide. The flooring covered the dining room, and appeared to stretch into the living room, which was off to the left. The two rooms were open, and connected, appearing to flow into one another.

Mary Beth followed them into the dining room. There was a set of sliding glass doors against the outside wall, and as Andy walked up to them, she saw a small wooden deck built just outside; nothing fancy. Past the glass doors, on the adjacent wall was a set of shelves, painted white to match. She ran her hand over one of them.

"There are built-in bookshelves in three rooms; dining room, living room, and the master bedroom. And the house is partially furnished." Andy's eyes flicked to Mary Beth and then away again as she took it in. There was no table, but a brushed steel pendant light hung from the ceiling. "Down here," Mary Beth said, gesturing down a short hallway, "there's a linen closet at the very end, and the smaller bedroom." Stone and Andy followed her into the room. Maybe 12 ft by 12 ft, it seemed tiny. There was a small window on each of the outside walls, and a new-looking twin mattress on a box spring, set onto a very basic frame against the nearest wall. The closet was decently large, there was a scarred, cheap-looking dresser set in the corner and also a matching nightstand near the bed.

Andy followed them back out, back down the hall and they turned to the right, into the living room. The hardwood did extend all the way through the room, and the shelves were built into two walls. The blue door Andy had observed from the outside opened up into this room, and then the room stretched maybe another twelve feet to the right; complete with the picture window. There was a couch similar to the one she'd sat on in the safe house; wooden frame, uncomfortable with little padding, covered in a sort of tweed. Also, a couple of garage-sale end tables; the handles didn't even match.

There was another hallway, near where they'd entered the room. It stretched back towards the garage, only a narrow divider separating it from the kitchen. But where the floors in the dining room and living room were bare, the floors in the hallways were covered in a plush, thick carpeting. Andy's feet sunk into it as she followed Mary Beth down. Immediately on the right was a bathroom; typical bathroom. Shower/tub combination, toilet, large vanity and another linen closet. Andy took one curious glance at the single tiny cabinet door set behind the regular door and then moved on.

Right next to the bathroom, the last room in the hallway, was the master bedroom. She pushed the door open and stepped in. Larger than the other, this bedroom was empty. There was a long, deep closet set against the same wall as the door, and across the room was a big bay window with a window seat, complete with a thick, mauve cushion.

Behind her, Stone and Mary Beth were chatting quietly.

"Electric's already hooked up?" Jill asked, and in answer Mary Beth flipped the light switch and the room was suddenly flooded with brightness. "And what about the other things I mentioned?"

Mary Beth glanced curiously at Andy. "Landline is functional. Locksmith and the alarm company should be here in an hour or so. They promised to be out by the end of the day."

"I'm going to need a list of names and numbers. The utility companies, addresses and phone numbers for cable and internet providers. Um," Stone pulled a notepad out of her purse and flipped through it. "Banks, reputable car dealerships, insurance companies, employment agencies."

"You don't have a job yet?" Mary Beth asked, eyebrows sky high as she looked over at Andy.

Andy rolled her eyes and turned away. "We're good for it," Stone said in her irritated voice. "Plus, I've already put down first and last and a security deposit." She continued to run down her list, asking about the nearest grocery stores, gas stations, city government offices, nearest police station.

By the time she was done, Mary Beth looked overwhelmed and Stone looked a little frustrated. Andy was just amused. It'd taken her a couple of weeks to get used to Stone; to the no-nonsense, business-like tone she took on when she was dealing with work. She wasn't used to people telling her 'no', expected everyone to give her their best effort. Demanded it even. And she was unfailingly thorough and organized. The list she was running through was probably printed from a template she kept on her laptop. The same questions for each new residence, for each new protectee. She'd been the same way when they'd gone over all of Andy's paperwork and preparations over the last few weeks.

Andy had gotten used to it. But she'd forgotten what it was like for people who didn't know her to be hit with it all at once.

Andy wandered past them, back down the hall and around to the kitchen. All the windows, except for the one in the living room were the crank variety. All relatively new, screens intact, locks flipped. She trailed her fingers against the wooden doors of the pantry and around the corner. Behind the door leading to the garage were a row of coat hooks, no closet though.

Andy put her hand on the door leading to the basement and pushed it open gently, reaching out to flip the light switch. Instantly, the bulb came on over her head and she looked over and flipped a second switch, tilting her head to watch as the light came on below.

She walked down the steps slowly, noticing that they were the open kind, made of thick wood with no risers. She shivered a little, imagining someone standing behind the stair case, reaching out for her ankle. She increased her speed a little, trotting down a bit faster.

The basement was large; in fact it stretched the full length of the house. In front of the stairs, cheap, stain-resistant carpeting covered the cement floor. The walls were basic gray cinderblocks, with small horizontal windows set near the ceiling; three on each side. They all appeared to be latched from the inside. She turned back to face the stairs and saw that off to the right were the washer and dryer and a large table that was undoubtedly intended for folding. Above her head in the center of the laundry area was a chute that must have led up into the bathroom, if Andy judged the distance right. The tiny cabinet behind the door.

She walked around, behind the steps, dodging a few cobwebs. This side was empty, and a little dark, shadowed. But there was nothing on this side either; only more of the steel shelving she'd seen in the garage.

Her head jerked up as she heard Stone calling her and then she made her way back upstairs, flicking the switches as she came through the door.

She turned and stepped into the kitchen and Stone smiled at her as she tucked her notebook back into her bag. "So? What do you think?"

Andy shrugged. "It'll work."

* * *

><p>Stone hadn't been kidding when she said the day would be hell. It literally took until sundown for them to finish the day's tasks; each one checked off on another list. The first thing they did after Mary Beth left was head to the store and load up on groceries, cleaning supplies, a shower curtain, alarm clock, towels, inexpensive dishes and silverware, cheap cookware, laundry supplies, and bathroom supplies. A stop at the electronics store garnered her a brand new laptop and iPod which weren't exactly necessary, but Andy thought she deserved a pick-me-up. Stone also purchased a three-foot-long wooden dowel about the thickness of a quarter, murmuring a quiet "You'll see," when Andy questioned her about it. Throughout the entire shopping trip, Stone would ask, "Do you need this? Now or later?" All the 'laters' went on yet another list which was eventually tucked into Andy's wallet for another day.<p>

When they'd gotten back to the house, everything had been brought in. The food was put away and the rest of the bags were just left in the middle of the dining room floor. Then they went out again.

This time, they made plans to get her internet set up and got the utilities put into her name. And lastly, they pulled into the car dealership recommended to them by Mary Beth. An hour or so later, they both pulled into Andy's driveway in Stone's black sedan and a '94 Escort with manual transmission and an obscene number of miles on it. But it ran well, and the seat belts worked and at less than $2000, the price had been right. As Stone explained, she'd only need it until she could afford a trade. Until things settled down, there was no need to drive long distances, so she should be fine. She was also the proud owner of two new insurance policies: rental and auto.

By the time they walked through door to the kitchen, the locksmith had already come and gone, leaving keys to the extra deadbolts he'd installed on the front and kitchen doors. The guy from the alarm company was still there, testing out the system. Before he left, he showed her how to arm and disarm the house and ran her through it a few times to let her practice.

After he left, Stone had her eye on the clock. It was still relatively early, but the sun had sunk low in the sky, casting the street in an orangey-red glow. Andy took one last look as the van drove away and then closed the blinds. When she went back into the kitchen, Stone was putting her coat back on, tying up her shoes.

"Where are you going?" Andy asked, unable to disguise the small amount of panic in her voice.

Stone arched an eyebrow. "I'm going home. We talked about this. I'll be back in a few days." The plan was that she would return after the weekend, after Andy had taken a little time to settle in. Then they would start figuring out the rest.

She wrapped her arms around herself, fingers clutching at the sides of her sweatshirt. "But I still have all this stuff to put away."

Stone looked at her for a moment. "I think you can handle that."

"Well, maybe you should just stay until I'm done. We can order a pizza." Stone gave her a disapproving look, hands on her hips. "What?" Andy finally snapped. "So I'm scared. Big deal."

Stone relaxed. "Just wanted to hear you admit it."

"Bitch," Andy muttered as she turned away.

"I've been called worse." Stone took off her coat and shoes and walked past Andy to the pile of bags on the dining room floor. She snagged the wooden dowel from the hardware store, walked over to the sliding glass doors in the dining room. She dropped it down, using her foot to settle it into the track, then tried the door, sliding it. And when it was stopped short after only an inch or so, she nodded, apparently satisfied. She slid it closed again and flipped the lock. Then she raised her eyebrows at Andy as she bent down to pick up a bag. "Might as well order that pizza."

* * *

><p>It wasn't until after ten o'clock that Stone finally left. Instead of making the drive home, she booked a room in a motel at the edge of town and promised to bring breakfast the next day before finally leaving for the weekend. Andy walked through the house, checking locks, arming the security system, pulling the blinds in every room. And then she took a hot shower. Walking through to the smaller bedroom wearing just a towel was strange. New sounds, new smells, new floor under her feet. She dried quickly and put her pajamas on, almost aching for something familiar.<p>

She left the light on in the hall, and before climbing into bed, she bent down and reached underneath, pulling out her new lockbox. She opened it and just to make herself feel better, pulled out the .40 caliber Glock 22 Stone had gotten for her. Basically the exact same gun she'd carried on the job, the weight of it, the shape of it was familiar. She loaded, then unloaded it, the hard smooth surface fitting against her hand just right, making the noises she remembered. Then she did it again. More than the actual presence of the weapon, the motions and the repetition were comforting.

She removed the magazine and replaced it all; gun, bullets, box. Then she climbed into bed, pulled the covers up and switched off the lamp. For a few moments, she closed her eyes and listened, trying to figure out the new noises of the house, the new noises of the outside. But they were few, and what sounds were there were quiet.

She turned over onto her side, smoothing her thumb over the pillowcase. This was the time she usually let herself think about Sam. In the moments right before she fell asleep, whenever that happened to be. While she was laying in bed, covers pulled up to her chin, she didn't have to worry about the expression on her face, or the way her chest felt so hollow, or the way the tears started, stinging her eyes until she blinked. She turned her face into the pillow for a breath and a half and then rolled onto her other side.

She took a few more deep breaths and after another ten minutes or so, the weariness, the exhaustion of weeks of restless nights caught up with her, and she dropped off to sleep.

* * *

><p>For the first time in weeks, she really slept. It was fitful, but each time she woke, she was able to go back under, sinking deeply, and finally waking around nine the next morning to the sound of her phone ringing. She glanced at the display and then clicked it on, putting it to her ear as she yawned. "Yeah."<p>

"You're sleeping? That's a nice change, huh?" Andy didn't say anything, just closed her eyes again and let Stone talk. "Anyway, I just checked out of the hotel and I'm in line for coffee and some sort of breakfast sandwiches at the Tim Horton's down the street. I should be at your place in ten. So, get up."

Andy made some sort of agreeable noise and then turned the phone off and rolled over. She was just getting back to sleep when she heard a pounding at the door. Cursing under her breath, Andy pushed herself out of bed and yawned as she wandered out into the hall and then turned towards the living room. She flipped the locks on the front door and swung it open, expecting to see Stone. The person she saw stood about the same height as Stone but her face was infinitely more friendly. Somewhere behind her, Andy heard a beeping that she couldn't quite place. She put it out of her mind as she stared at the stranger.

It was a woman, maybe a year or two younger than herself with impossibly long, wavy hair in all different shades of blonde. She had a face full of freckles and light blue eyes and when she saw Andy, her face instantly split into a grin and she gave her a small wave.

"Hi! I'm Rebecca; I live right over there." She pointed to the small blue house across the street. "I saw you move in yesterday and thought I'd stop by and say hi. You know, welcome you to the neighborhood." She glanced down at Andy's state of undress and self-consciously, Andy folded her arms across the front of her purple flannel owl pajamas. "I guess I caught you at a bad time."

Andy raised her eyebrows. "Well, it is a little early," she said, possibly a little more surly than she intended.

Rebecca glanced down at her watch. "Oh, crap. Sorry. I have two kids and they get up at the crack of dawn. I sort of forget that everyone else is on a different schedule. What happened to your hand?" She was looking down at the cast, and self-consciously, Andy tucked it behind her back.

Behind her, the beeping was getting louder, and then all of a sudden, a loud whoop whoop noise started sounding and Andy jumped. She raced back through the house to the kitchen and frantically typed the code into the box. The alarm silenced and then she headed back to the front door where Rebecca was still standing.

"Sorry about that."

"No problem. Paranoid?" Andy just looked at her. "Although, probably not that paranoid, since you just left me here with the door open," Rebecca said as an afterthought. Behind her, Stone was pulling into the driveway. "Popular though," she said as she glanced back at the car. "So what's your name?"

Andy blinked, and it took a full five seconds before she could remember which name to give her. "Abby. McAllister."

"Nice to meet you, Abby." Stone was giving her a curious look as she walked across the brown grass and up to the steps. "And you are?" Rebecca asked, looking expectantly at Stone.

"Overworked," Stone said with a wry smile. She walked past Andy into the house and Rebecca raised her eyebrows. Inside the house, the telephone began to ring: the alarm company calling to check in.

"Ahh," Andy faltered for a second. "My cousin. She's got a social disorder." She wasn't sure if Rebecca could tell if she was kidding, but she earned a smile. "Anyway, I should probably…" She glanced over her shoulder at Stone who was picking up the cordless phone in the kitchen.

"Yeah, sure. Just let me know if you need anything. People always seem to have questions when they move to a new place. And I grew up here; I know where everything is."

"Can you find her a job?" Stone asked abruptly as she walked up, startling Andy as she spoke from directly behind her. She had the cordless phone pressed to her ear.

Rebecca started a bit and then blinked as her mind quickly ran through a few things. "Actually, I probably could."

Stone nodded. "Get her number," she said quietly to Andy before she spoke again to the guy on the other end of the phone, seeming to not notice the curious way Rebecca was staring at her.

Andy bounced her eyebrows at her once. "I'll just stop by sometime, if that's okay with you."

Rebecca nodded. "Sure. Whatever works." She turned around and flew down the steps, was halfway across the lawn before she turned around again. "I guess I'll see you around sometime!"

Stone stared after her and then, as she hung up with the alarm company, she smirked at Andy. "Yeah, I'm sure the two of you will be _best_ friends."

* * *

><p><strong>.Chapter 8 is more than half done. Hopefully out soon! Thanks for sticking it out during this chapter. Please review!<strong>


	9. Chapter 8

**Note: Yes, it's long again. I'd like to say this will change, but it's not looking good. There's just a lot of story here! Feel free to PM me if you'd like me to seriously consider splitting, but I just feel like it ruins the tone of the chapter. That being said, I will think about it if enough people pester me.**

**Sorry about the wait on this one, I had issues with a four-year old, eight hours of driving, work, weather, you name it, it distracted me. Anyway, thanks to the usual suspects: rookiebluefan89, tikvarn, SoWritten, icewitch73 for their antagonizing and nerve-soothing :) **

**Thanks again for all the reviews; if I didn't get around to responding, I apologize. Also, I want to apologize for not doing a better job of responding to the reviews for Family Dynamics. I fell behind. I suck.**

**Anyway, if you review this time and you have an account, I'll make a better effort ;)**

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><p><em>She was humming to herself, he realized. Humming along with the radio as she perched cross-legged on top of the blankets at the foot of the bed. They were sitting together in her bedroom, lamps touching everything with a soft goldy-pink glow. Her attention was focused on the magazine lying open in front of her and on the ends of her hair as she distractedly dragged the comb through them. Her teeth were working ceaselessly at her lip as she groomed herself, eyes moving quickly over the words on the page. Sam glanced at the title. Some article on "The New Way to Foreplay." So, research. Unnecessary research. Sam thought she could probably teach the author a few things.<em>

_He was leaning back against the headboard wearing only his boxer briefs, legs stretched out in front of him. Just to see what she'd do, he gave the magazine a gentle nudge with his foot. Andy's eyes bounced up to him for only an instant. Long enough for her to tell that it hadn't been an accident. She rolled her eyes at him, but he saw the corner of her mouth turn up._

_He'd gotten used to this extended after-shower routine. In the mornings, she could be in and out in a matter of minutes, hair dry and clothes on in twenty minutes flat. But at night, after they'd both toweled off, she took her time, further drying herself, dressing; a simple ribbed tank top and a pair of white cotton underpants tonight. Then she lotioned up and she combed her hair, always last, because she liked to take her time with it._

_He liked to watch her. To watch this. The first time, she'd been annoyed, kept turning away towards the mirror, keeping him at her back, asking him if he really didn't have anything better to do. Which, of course, probably. However, at the time, nothing had come to mind. But then her eyes kept meeting his in the glass. By this point in the game, he was pretty sure she liked it, liked his eyes on her. Eventually, they'd evolved to the current situation; them on opposite ends of the bed. Once she'd tried sitting next to him, but after he'd tried to "help" her with the lotion, it'd taken her twice as long to comb out her hair. _

_Again, he kicked at the magazine. This time, she snatched it up and smacked him on the leg with it. "Knock it off," she laughed. After another minute or so she peeked at Sam again, feeling him looking at her. "Quit it." _

_He tipped his head back a little and looked at her through slitted eyes. "I'm just watching, McNally. Just go back to what you were doing."_

"_As if I'd be able to concentrate," she mumbled, not meeting his eyes. "You don't have to, you know. You're probably going to see this a lot. I mean, after. When you get back." She finished up on her hair and tossed the comb off the side of the bed in the direction of the bathroom. Then she settled back into her spot and found her place, reading as she flipped her heavy wet hair over her shoulder. _

"_You promise?" he asked with a grin, tapping her thigh with the side of his foot. "It's probably going to be a while, you know. You could cut your hair." She flashed her teeth at him and wrapped her fingers around his ankle, stroking gently with her thumb. And then his smile dimmed a little. "Or you could get tired of waiting. It could be a long time," he reminded her._

_She gave him a look, like he was possibly the dumbest person to ever live. "We're gonna be okay." Her nails scratched lightly up his shin. "And I'm not cutting my hair, so you can just get that out of your head right now," she said widening her eyes in mock seriousness. And then her gaze dropped back to her magazine; she turned a page. When she glanced up again, he was still staring at her._

"_Seriously, Sam…" she began, her voice starting to take on an irritated tone._

"_I just want to remember, okay? I like you like this," he said, eyes touching on the light reflecting off her hair, on the shadow between her breasts under her thin shirt. For a second, she had a strange expression on her face; halfway between concern and amusement. Then the look took on a slyness._

_Andy pushed herself up onto her knees and leaned way over the edge of the bed, until he was sure she'd fall straight down and land on her face. But she caught herself on her hands on the dresser and snatched the silver camera off the top. _

_Then, as she turned it on, she gave him a quick, unexpected grin, and began walking towards him on her knees across the bed. She held it up, started snapping pictures, but he was ready for her. He had his hand over his face, out in front, blocking the shots. _

"_What are you doing?" he laughed._

_She weaved, trying to get a good shot. "I'm making a memory, Swarek," she teased. "This is how we do it in the twenty-first century."_

_Andy leaned, laughing, trying to get around his hand, but then he was reaching for her, snatching the camera out of her hand. Once he had it, he didn't let go of her, just hauled her up against him, holding her tightly in place as he dangled the camera from its cord, way out of reach. She thrust her fist into his solar plexus. She was gentle, but it made him push out a surprised breath. _

"_What?" she asked with an easy grin. "Are you too bad-ass to take a picture with your girlfriend?"_

_Now, __**that**__ made him drop his hand. It fell to his lap like it was made of lead and even though Andy had snatched the camera back, she was pausing now as the realization of what she'd just said washed over her._

_They stared at each other. "Is that what you are?" Sam finally asked with a slow smile._

"_Well, yeah… I mean, I guess." She frowned a little and then sank down onto her butt at his side. "Well, aren't I?" she asked sharply, sounding just a little like she thought he might actually say 'no'._

_He nodded, grin spreading wide as his eyes fell to her thigh and he flattened his hand over it, thumb rubbing against her skin. "Yeah. You've just never said it before."_

_She looked at him for a few more long seconds and then popped back up onto her knees, moving up tight against his side. _

"_I'll say it again if you take this picture with me," she bargained, catching her tongue between her teeth. Her stomach was pressing against him and Sam rolled his eyes and shifted, wrapping his arm loosely around her hips as she sunk down again, practically in his lap. She thrust her arm out, camera in hand, lens pointed back towards them. "Now you have to smile," she said very seriously. "And not that fake smile you get when you're pissed at me but don't want to admit it." _

_He looked at her, feigning indignation, but she grabbed his chin in her hand and turned his face back towards the camera. As Andy leaned in and pressed her mouth to his face, he grinned. Teeth and everything. He heard the camera whir and click, saw the flash, and then saw her jostle it in her hand as she got into position for a second picture. _

_He reached out, and snatched it from her hand. "Nope." He ignored her squeak of protest, and then leaned over the edge of the mattress, and gave the camera a gentle toss underneath, sending it on a ride across the carpet. He heard it tap against a storage container full of her summer clothes, and then he swung back up and reached for her. _

_Andy was laughing. Light laughter that shook her chest as Sam rolled her underneath him. He slid his body up against hers, catching her mouth for a moment and then he ran his lips down to her shoulder, tasting the clean flesh stretched over her collarbone. Her arms wound around his shoulders and he heard a contented sign leave her lips. And for some inexplicable reason, he started having…doubts. About leaving, about vanishing from this life for who knew how long. About what might happen to them, to this relationship while he was gone. When she'd shown up at his house that first night, after she'd left the message, he'd been stunned. To say he hadn't been expecting her was an understatement. And now, after only a couple of weeks, he found himself expecting far too much. A long future with this girl, number one on the list._

"_Promise me," he said suddenly, not lifting his head. Her fingers were skimming down his back; light touches and the barest rasp of nail. _

"_What?" she asked, the word sounding heavy as she pushed it out. For the moment, Sam kept his eyes off her face. He knew what he'd see if he looked: eyes glittering, pupils night dark, lids at half-mast. That expression alone could make every word fly out of his head. Instead, he concentrated on the three freckles forming a triangle at the point of her shoulder._

"_Promise me that things won't change. That we'll just… That I'll come back and it'll be just like this."_

_Her legs hitched themselves up, hips shimmying and knees tightening around his ribs as he leaned into her, as he smoothed a hand down over the curve of her butt. _

_Her chest rose as she sucked in a breath, and for a second, he forgot and glanced up; saw her looking down at him through her lashes. "You do realize I'd probably tell you anything right now?"_

_Sam dropped his eyes again, moving his mouth over the swell of a breast, trying not to think of the dozen inappropriate things that just popped into his head. "Just promise," he repeated, teeth scraping across her flesh._

_Andy tightened her legs around his ribs, forcing him to go still above her. And then she slid her hands into his hair and tipped his face up, forcing him to look directly at her. "Don't worry so much," she said quietly, a strange, thoughtful look on her face. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise." He turned his face down, pressed his mouth against her skin one more time so she wouldn't see the bone deep relief that was coursing through him, steadying his heart. It was ridiculous; desperate even. The need to hear her say it. And yet, he wanted to make her say it over and over again._

_Sam took her waist in his hands and pulled her down a little, flatter on the bed. It caused her wet hair fan out on the blanket over her head and then he used his hands against the mattress to walk himself down her body. He worked the tank top up until it was bunched under her breasts and set his mouth against her, running his teeth gently across her ribs, his fingers over her sides, tickling her until she was twisting and pushing at him, breath coming hard and fast. _

"_Say it again."_

_She squirmed against him. "What the girlfriend thing, or the other?"_

_He nosed the fabric tucked under her breasts, sucked a small light mark onto her skin. "The other."_

_She gave a pleased laugh and then wriggled a little under the touch of his hands and mouth. "I'll be here waiting for you. Every day. I promise." The last sentence came out on a whisper, and Sam lifted his eyes to hers, this time on purpose. For a moment, they just looked at each other, while something easy and nonverbal travelled through the space between them. And then, out of nowhere, one thought burst through. _

Ask me to stay.

_The only reason he'd agreed to the undercover assignment in the first place was because he'd figured this McNally thing was a lost cause. But now… If she asked him to stay, it would very rapidly transform into a nonissue. She didn't say anything else though, only smiled at him, rubbing a foot up the back of his thigh._

_To keep himself from saying anything, he moved farther down her body, until his chest lay heavily between her legs, arms hooked over her thighs. He pulled the waistband of her underwear down an inch, pressing a kiss to the soft skin underneath._

"_Wait… What are you doing?" Andy asked, laughter suddenly dying on her lips as she squeezed her thighs around him._

_Sam smirked against her skin and hooked his fingers in the elastic on either side, tugging it down a little. Then he looked up at her and grinned. "I'm making a memory."_

* * *

><p><strong>February 6 (Monday)<strong>

"What are you thinking about?"

Sam jumped a little at the disruption of his thoughts. In an instant, he was transported from the warm comfort of Andy's bedroom to the cold, stark office of Dr. Melissa Curtis, 15 Division's police psychiatrist.

"What did you say?" he asked gruffly after his head cleared a few seconds later.

She smiled. "I asked you to tell me about Andy, and you kind of…disappeared for a minute. Care to tell me what you were thinking about?"

He raised his eyebrows and gave her an unpleasant smile. "Not really."

She crossed her legs, shifting her weight in the chair, and tapped her pen on the tablet resting on her knee. "This is our fifth meeting. Sooner or later, you're going to have to talk about her."

Sam turned his back to her and leaned against the wall, staring out the window at the busy street below. "I don't really feel like it."

"So, what do you feel like?"

He snorted. "Wouldn't mind a stiff drink right about now."

"How _is_ the alcohol intake?"

He turned hard eyes towards her. "Excuse me?"

She shrugged. "A lot of people use alcohol as a numbing agent. Takes some of the pain away."

He rolled his eyes. But for some reason, he felt the need to defend himself. "Almost nothing," he finally muttered, folding his arms. It was the truth. It would have been easier, for sure. He'd been down to quarter of a liter of scotch for the last couple of weeks; it was sitting on top of his refrigerator. It probably would have helped him sleep a little better, but the perma-hangover had finally lost its luster a couple weeks back and the guy at the LCBO was starting to call him by name. Not a good sign.

"You're not going to the Black Penny with your friends and coworkers?" When he shook his head, she tipped her head to the side, just a slight angle. "Maybe you should."

His eyebrows shot up. "You _want_ me to drink?" He folded his arms over his chest, crossed one foot over the other and watched her watching him.

"No. I want you to get back into a routine. You certainly wouldn't be doing your liver any favors, but the socialization? Kind of an important thing."

"I socialize." Dr. Curtis had been scribbling on her tablet for a while and it just… It was getting to him. "I just don't really like to be around a lot of people these days."

"Any special reason?"

He smirked. "Lots."

"Give me one."

Sam pushed up from the wall and started walking slowly around the room, eyes falling on the framed diplomas hanging behind her desk, on the small pictures lined up next to her computer. He didn't speak until he'd made a full circuit and planted himself on the edge of the chair across from her. She arched a brow at him questioningly, and he scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

"This is stupid. Your job is to sign a piece of paper that says I'm stable enough to do _my_ job. Not to psychoanalyze me."

"What if I said I wasn't so sure you _were_ stable enough to do your job?"

"You'd be wrong," he said quickly, ignoring the simmering inside him.

"Really? Have you worked with Detective Callaghan since you've been back?" she asked with an inquisitive smile.

He fixed her with a chilling stare. "I don't want to talk about him either."

She returned his stare with more curiosity than coldness. "I believe the last time we met you were working through some pretty heavy denial. Have we graduated to anger then?"

"I think there would be something wrong with me if I_ wasn't_ angry about this."

"I tend to agree. So, who are you angry at?"

He snorted. "The list is so long, I wouldn't know where to start."

She wet her lips and after a slow moment where she appeared to be judging his reaction, she said, "Let's get right to it. Start with Detective Callaghan. What part did he play in this situation?"

"I'm sure you already know."

"And I'm sure I'd rather hear it from you."

He leaned back in the chair and crossed his ankle over his knee. As he tucked his arms across his chest he drew in a deep breath. "He was supposed to be protecting her, and he left her alone."

Dr. Curtis didn't move; she didn't make any notes, didn't smile. "Why did he do that?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

Again, another deep breath through his nose. "They had a fight."

"What about?"

He shook his head, pressing his lips together tightly. "Don't know."

She was looking at him like she didn't believe a word coming out of his mouth. Like she knew every single thing that he knew. It was both unnerving and infuriating at the same time. "What did they argue about?" she asked again.

He blinked a few times, and then realizing he wasn't getting out of it, he leaned his head back against the chair in defeat. "The report said it was a personal issue between the two of them."

"Which means?"

He held out his hands for a moment, palms up. "They used to be engaged. It could've been anything. Really, it doesn't make any difference. He left her alone. That's it. That's all that matters."

"Have you talked to any of the responding officers about it?"

He met her eyes and then nodded slowly.

"What do they say?"

He hesitated. And then finally, gave his head a shake. "They were arguing about me. About us."

"And what do you think about that?"

He barked out a laugh. "You mean, what do I think about him trying to fuck with her head when she's already had what was probably the worst day of her life? You don't want to know," he finished, his voice dark and menacing.

"Yes, I do."

"Fine. I don't want to tell you." He shot her the unpleasant smile again. "If I tell you, you'll have me back here, every week until the end of time."

"I might anyway." He didn't say anything, just got up out of the chair and wandered back over to the window. "Have you thought about confronting him about his part in this whole thing?"

"Every day," he muttered, cracking his knuckles.

"Maybe you should." His head snapped around and he stared at her with a sort of shocked skepticism. She held up a hand to clarify. "I just mean maybe you should sit down and scream it out. You know, in a controlled setting, with a moderator. I'd be happy to facilitate. We could do it here."

He snorted. "Not happening."

"Are you sure? Because it might really help. You might feel better."

He glanced up at her briefly, dismissively. At this point, he was pretty sure there was only one thing that would make him feel better about that particular situation. Sam rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and then looked down at his watch. "I've gotta go."

"Wait." He paused, two steps from the door. She was tapping the pen against the tablet again, looking at him straight on. "You have to know that I can't let you out of this until we talk about her."

He shook his head, still facing away. "I'm not talking about her."

"To me? Or to anyone?"

"Everything between Andy and me? It's private," he said in a tight voice, head half-turned over his shoulder.

"I'm only asking –"

"No!" he snapped as he turned around.

This time, she drew in a breath, recrossed her legs and set her tablet aside. She folded her arms and met his glare with a neutral expression. "Are you angry with her?"

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "None of this is her fault. This?" He gestured to himself, to the fucked-up mess he'd become. "It's not her fault."

A ghost of a smile passed over her face. "Even if that's true, it doesn't mean you can't be angry with her. The way you feel is the way you feel. It doesn't have to make sense."

He just stared at her, his face slackened with disbelief, eyes as round as saucers. As he thought about it, considered her words carefully, he felt the strange heavy weight of betrayal settle into his chest. "I think our time is up," he finally said, voice oddly hollow. And then he put his hand on the knob and left the room, giving the door a good slam on the way out.

* * *

><p>That day was the first time he'd been paired with Nash since he'd returned, and if he was perfectly honest with himself, he'd probably have to admit that it wasn't really the best time for it. Especially since they were still having this imaginary stand-off. He knew that she too was having a hard time with Andy's disappearance. Jerry had said as much. On another day, in another situation they might have been able to lean on each other; to help each other out. But after dealing with the shrink, and the confusion of emotion suddenly swimming around inside him, Sam wasn't feeling very compassionate. He felt like hitting something.<p>

Really, he thought he'd been doing better. That things were getting easier, that he was doing a good job of keeping everything separate. But Andy was always there, in his head, making each day a struggle. It was only now, sitting in the car with Nash, unwrapping their lunches, that he realized that mostly, he'd just been trying to make it through each day without falling apart in a room full of witnesses. Trying to keep himself from unloading on every single person around him. But the system only worked when people played along. When they started asking questions, making observations about his moods, it started to wear away the makeshift barrier he rebuilt every day. And Nash wasn't one to sit quietly in an awkward situation.

She'd started out the shift giving him cool glances and clipped words, and he let her. But after a few hours, she'd finally just turned and looked at him and said "So, where is she?"

They were parked outside the coffee shop and were putting away pastrami sandwiches. She'd been doing her best to stare him down the entire time, and when he ignored her question, when he simply pretended she hadn't spoken, she asked again.

"Where is she?"

He glanced at her and bobbed his eyebrows. "Ask Barber," he said quietly.

"I'm asking you."

He shook his head and watched out the window as people walked up and down the sidewalk. "I don't know what to tell you." He took a large bite.

She raised her eyebrows and stared at him. "You can tell me where she is."

He chewed, lifting a shoulder in a pathetic attempt at a shrug. "I don't know," he finally said after he swallowed.

"I don't believe you. There's no way you'd let her leave without knowing where she was going." Of course, that made it feel like his heart was being shredded by a thousand shards of glass. He'd told himself the same thing, again and again. That he should have followed them to Pearson, should have found some way around their rule. If he'd had a little more time, there was no telling what could have gone differently.

But Sam just looked away and took a drink of his coffee, keeping his eyes off her, attempting to put a little more mental distance between himself and the situation. "Doesn't matter what you believe."

"Swarek," she ground out, getting ready to start interrogating him.

"Look," he said in an irritated tone. "You can ask me a thousand times. It won't change the fact that I don't know."

That had shut her up. For about a minute and a half. They sat there together, holding their food, neither one of them taking more than a couple of bites. And then she wrapped up the rest of her sandwich and shoved it into the bottom of the bag.

"I lost her too, you know," she said quietly.

Sam didn't answer her. He just finished chewing his last bite and then swallowed, suddenly feeling a little sick.

Traci didn't realize that he'd been ignoring her. "I said…"

"I heard you," he snapped. "I get it, okay."

"Do you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "Because you've been running around here like you're the only one who misses her, and you're not."

Sam didn't say anything. He kept his eyes on the wrapper suddenly twisted between his hands. She was still talking, and every word was just jackhammering into his head. He looked at the radio, reached out and flipped it off and on, wondering why they hadn't gotten a call yet; wishing that dispatch would just come over the line and give them a good double homicide right about now.

"She's my best friend, you know. And no one will tell me anything. I mean, they're all treating you like...like you're _breakable_ or something." He rolled his eyes at that, trying to shove down the irritation. "But you still get to know everything."

"Yeah, well it's kind of my job," he replied, feeling a little defensive.

"It's my job too," she said resentfully.

He laughed through his nose. "Actually, it's not. You're not on this case."

Nash was too quiet for a long moment and Sam glanced over at her, saw her tense, arms folded over her chest, face turned out the window. For a second he almost felt bad. "I know she didn't just go to work for a different police service or another division. But no one will tell me where she is," she finally said, a sort of pleading present in her voice.

So apparently, Sam wasn't made of stone after all. Against his better judgment, he actually felt his resolve melting, felt the anger very slowly shifting aside to let something else move up to the forefront. Empathy. He grimaced and then shaking his head, he drummed his fingers on his leg.

"Look, I know people are talking." Fifteen was like any other place of employment. Rumors spread like wildfire, whether the information was sensitive or not. "It's not like anyone around the barn can keep their mouths shut. You had to have heard something."

"Sure." Nash shrugged. "People always talk. I've heard some stuff. But the people who actually _know,_ Jerry and Shaw and Gail, they won't tell me anything."

"That's because they're not supposed to," he muttered.

"So, you're not going to tell me either."

"I _can't_ tell you, alright? I don't make the rules." Traci was shaking her head at him, face tight with anger. "What?"

"Nothing." She turned away.

"If you've got something to say, you might as well just say it," he challenged.

She looked at him for a moment. "Maybe you shouldn't have gone under cover." His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "I mean, if you'd been here, maybe this wouldn't have happened."

Her words sliced through him like a knife. It wasn't anything he hadn't thought about, but to hear someone else say it, just… It brought the anger back. And the guilt. Somewhere deep inside him, he knew she didn't mean it. That she was just frustrated and mad and looking for someone to blame. But so was he. He remembered how when he'd first found out, that day in Best's office, he'd been ready to blame everyone, or anyone really. And truthfully, the list hadn't narrowed all that much, but he had come to realize one thing. Despite all evidence to the contrary, despite the fact that a tiny part of him actually agreed with Nash, Andy was an adult and more than capable of making her own decisions, and her own mistakes.

"This isn't my fault," he said icily.

She looked at him accusingly. "You were her partner. You were supposed to be there to protect her."

He looked at her then, got his hand up and pointed his finger. "She_ had_ a partner. She wasn't alone. And anyway, she was supposed to protect _herself_. She's not a child." He tapped his thumb against the steering wheel. "Besides, you were around. Why weren't _you_ babysitting her?"

"I was doing my job."

"So was I!" he snapped.

They sat there, static crackling on the radio, cars passing on Sam's side, silence thick between the two of them. Somewhere, someone had to be robbing a liquor store or something, but still, no calls came through. Finally, after one of the longest minutes of Sam's life, he glanced at her and grimaced. It wasn't his responsibility to make her feel better, but for some reason, he felt like he should give her_ something._

"Look, it's not because you can't handle it, okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"Barber, him shutting you out. It's not because of your job performance. He's trying to protect you and your kid."

"Protect us from who?" she asked, suddenly deadly serious.

Sam turned away again, eyes down on his pant leg as he brushed away some crumbs from his lunch. "These guys that we're mixed up with… They don't play around. If they know you're important to her, if they think you have even the slightest idea where she is…" He trailed off. Then he shook his head. "You're in the dark for a reason."

Nash just watched him for a few seconds as he reached over his shoulder and pulled down his seat belt.

"So," she began quietly. "You really have no idea where she is? I mean, she hasn't called or anything?"

He turned his head and fixed her with a stare. "If I had any clue where she was, do you really think I'd be sitting here with you right now? Do you think I'd even be in this city?" His voice was rough, gravelly and Traci's eyes shifted away. Then she put on her own belt.

As Sam put his hand on the shifter, she spoke again, haltingly. "What I said before? About you being undercover? I was just mad. It's not your fault." Sam just shook his head dismissively and put the car into gear, glancing into the mirror and then over his shoulder as he pulled out into traffic. "Look, it wouldn't have mattered if you'd stayed. She's just always going to do things the way she wants anyway."

Sam wasn't entirely sure he agreed with that, but once she said it, he couldn't stop the memories from swarming. He started thinking about all the times she'd nearly stopped his heart with her impulsiveness, with bad decisions. The night of the hooker detail, the day she ran into that collapsing building, even that day she'd gone to the storage locker alone. Another time he hadn't stayed with her; had failed her.

"Look, Swarek," Nash said, loudly, so he'd look in her direction. And he did. His eyes shot over, meeting hers. "It's no one's fault."

He shook his head. "It's _someone's _fault."

* * *

><p>That night, before he could get out to his truck and disappear onto the quiet residential streets of his neighborhood, Shaw intercepted him. Between him and Jerry, they managed to convince him to go for a drink. At first, he'd tried to make an excuse, like he'd been doing for weeks; to just say anything that would allow him to get to his dark quiet house where he could be alone. But as they all walked out to the parking lot, he remembered Dr. Curtis and the snide omniscient expression on her face and he changed his mind. If it would help him get out of weekly meetings with her, he could go for one drink.<p>

And so, he was trying it. Socialization; getting back to a routine. It was a bad idea though. He'd decided that even before he'd taken his first sip. Maybe it would have been okay if they'd gone somewhere else. Somewhere with less memories. Around him, the bar was filling up fast, was getting loud, and he just…hated it. It used to be alright; he used to enjoy it. For years, he'd get off work, stop in for a few drinks, go home and pass out. Then he'd go to work the next morning and do it all over again. And when things with him and Andy changed, it was common for them to stop by for one or two and then leave to spend that time together somewhere quiet, more private. So it wasn't so much that he _couldn't_ go back to the old way. It was more that he didn't _want_ to. But for this night, he was committed. He was giving it a shot.

So, after he finished his first drink and found himself signaling for another, he figured conditions were right; he might as well get drunk. He was currently on his third beer and was sitting on a stool pulled back from the bar, flanked by Shaw and Barber. The three of them had their elbows lined up on the smooth wood; sweaty drinks were held in loose grips. Jerry and Oliver had been talking around him for the better part of an hour. Every few minutes or so, they'd say his name or give him a nudge, trying to draw him into the conversation, and for a while, he played along, nodding and laughing in the right places. But after a while, he found that he was beyond caring. His barely-tolerant mood was disintegrating. Despite the activity around him, his brain was busy running over the day's conversations. The longer he sat there, the closer to the edge he slid. Like one good shove would send him over. And then of course, there was Luke Callaghan.

The last person he needed to see tonight was Callaghan, but he'd decided to make an appearance at the Penny as well. He was still getting the cold shoulder from the few people in the know, but he was clearly feeling comfortable enough to venture out and drink amongst his coworkers. Right now, he was sitting at a table in the corner with a pretty young woman Sam vaguely remembered from the last time he'd gone to court. Maybe from the attorney general's office. Regardless, she was touching all up Callaghan's arm and looking at him like he'd hung the moon. And he was leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying himself, without a care in the world. Only when his eyes randomly touched on Sam's did the expression waver. He only held the chilly eye contact for an instant and then went back to his date.

Barber snapped his fingers in front of Sam's face. "Forget that shit. Trust me. You don't want to go there."

"That's what you think," Sam muttered. His hand slid around the beer bottle in front of him and he rotated slowly on his stool, back against the bar, facing the people milling around. He moved his gaze around the room, touching on faces that were familiar, ears picking up voices that he recognized, but when Peck pushed through the entrance, scanned the crowd, and met his eyes with a hard stare, he cursed.

That issue still hadn't resolved itself either. In fact, over the last couple of days, she'd seemed…insistent. Like she'd suddenly gotten serious about it; about talking to him. So far, she hadn't mentioned Andy while they were around other people, but from the determination on her face as she worked her way through the crowd, he could see that was about to change Up until this point he'd managed to keep a certain amount of distance between them. In fact, between her and Nash, he'd been trading rookies like they were baseball cards. But it wasn't a long term solution. Eventually, he'd have to suck it up and let her talk. But he didn't feel like it tonight.

Sam spun back around and set his mostly full bottle back down. He stood and pulled his wallet out, flipping a bill onto the bar. Then he took one long pull off his beer and glanced over his shoulder. Shaw and Barber followed his eyes. Peck was still trying to push her way through the crowd, her blonde head bobbing as she wove between tall cops.

He turned back again, finished his beer in two big swallows and then glanced at Shaw and jerked his head back. "Get rid of her," he snapped before rounding the corner of the bar and heading back to the restroom.

While he was in there, he used the facilities, used the sink, and then leaned his shoulder against the wall, taking a few extra minutes to waited her out. But apparently, he'd misjudged her courtesy, because it was less than thirty seconds later when the bathroom door banged open and she was standing there in front of him. She raised an eyebrow at the guy using the urinal on the opposite wall, but then her eyes swung back to him.

"Swarek."

"What do you want?" he spit out, spoiling for a fight, not even giving her an opportunity to dance around the issue. But, to his surprise, she wasn't interested in prolonging the moment either.

"Look, I've been trying to do this since that day we went to Belleville but you got all broody and wouldn't talk to me, and then Oliver said…"

"What?" Sam asked, instantly suspicious.

"I'm trying to tell you," she snapped, and at her tone, his eyebrows show up. "He said I should give you time. But I'm tired of carrying this around. I keep thinking I'm going to lose it." She shoved something at him, something flat and rectangular and his hand closed around it without even looking down. "We had to clean out her locker. Frank made us. Traci didn't want that, so I took it. And I was reading it, and the picture just fell out." She crossed her arms over her chest and thrust out a hip, settling her weight on her back leg. "Anyway, I'm tired of your shit, and you running away whenever you see me, so there. Now everything can just go back to normal." And with that, she spun around on her heel and walked out.

It actually took him a few seconds to look down, to recognize what he was holding in his hand. It was a paperback book, some bodice-ripper, with bright colors and an overdone seduction scene splashed across the cover underneath a faded "Used Books" sticker. Yes, he could totally imagine Peck reading this. Andy, not so much. She really wasn't much of a reader in general. It was more likely that someone had left it at her apartment. But the how or why wasn't really the important thing.

He thumbed clumsily through the pages, freezing in place when the book fell open to page 103. There was a photograph stuck in the binding, face down and in the instant before he grabbed it and flipped it over, he held his breath.

It only took a millisecond for it to bring tears to his eyes. And then, as he leaned back against the wall, his arm fell, the picture crunching a little as the edge of it hit his leg. He took a deep breath, and then another, and then looked at it again. At the way the light glanced off her skin, making everything a little too golden, her hair a little too shiny.

"_I'm not going anywhere. _

_I promise"_

The ache wasn't a surprise. That had been there for weeks, swelling and shrinking in response to the most ridiculous things, to moods and memories. But surrounding that, completely overtaking the sorrow was something else. Something ultimately more familiar, almost comforting. The anger that had been riding just underneath the surface since she'd been gone, leaking out around the edges until just now, when he felt it rising up inside him.

Like his heart might explode, or he might spontaneously combust if he didn't just _do_ something. It was vibrating through him; a raw, primitive emotion. Like possibly he could ram his fist into the wall a hundred times, and still wouldn't be satisfied. But there was one thing that he thought might help.

Sam sucked in a hard breath through his nose and tossed the book into the trash. Then he stuffed the photograph into the back pocket of his jeans. He pushed through the door and as he rounded the corner, his eyes scanned the crowd, back to the place where he'd last seen him. The woman was still sitting at the table, talking on her phone and Callaghan… Callaghan was waving a hand at her as he exited through the front of the bar, pushing the door open with his back. Without a second thought, Sam stalked up to Shaw and Barber and snagged his jacket from his seat and then followed, only vaguely recognizing the sounds of stools being pushed across the dirty, scarred floor as they shot up off their chairs.

Sam hit the door a few seconds before they did, and as he pushed through it, he felt a hard tug on his shoulder, but he wrenched away, coming down hard off the step. And then he was really moving. He didn't remember afterwards, the half a dozen or so strides it took him. He didn't even remember the strain in his voice when he'd snarled, "Callaghan." Shaw told him about it a couple days later.

What he _did_ remember, and would probably always remember, was the way Callaghan turned at the sound of his name, almost like it was slow-motion. Even more potent was the immense satisfaction Sam felt when his fist made contact with his face and the way Luke sank like a stone to the ground.

And then everything came rocketing back into focus. The noise around him grew to almost deafening levels as he heard Shaw and Barber shouting at him. Felt them dragging him backwards as he tried again to advance on Callaghan who was struggling to his feet. They pulled him back inside the Penny where the jukebox was blasting music, and people were shouting and laughing. The last he saw of Callaghan, he was on his feet, heel of his hand pressed to his lip, attempting to staunch the flow of blood.

Shaw and Barber turned him around and pushed him right through the bar, forcing him through the tables and chairs scattered all over, through the mass of bodies crowding the room. Finally, they exited through the back, stepping out into the cool night and Shaw got Sam up against his truck parked at the curb.

"Give me your keys."

"What? No. I'm not drunk," Sam argued loudly, trying to push past him. And he wasn't. He was a good couple of drinks away from a decent buzz, but Barber was on his other side and he shoved him back against the truck again.

Shaw held out his hand "Yeah, well I'm not letting you get behind the wheel like this. So, give 'em up." Sam just stared at him for a few moments, and then, realizing there was absolutely no way out of it, he dug into his pocket and pulled them out. He slapped them into Oliver's hand and they released him.

Shaw looked at Barber. "Follow me over?"

Jerry nodded. "Yeah, gotta take care of things first." Then he opened the passenger side door, raising his eyebrows at Sam who didn't move. "Might as well go home. You're not going back in there." He said it simply. Like there was no other option. And finally, Sam just shook his head and climbed in, sitting on the passenger side of his own truck as Shaw swung into the driver's seat next to him. Jerry closed the door and slapped the quarter panel twice, sending them on their way. Then, as Sam watched, he walked quickly back into the Penny.

* * *

><p>"So," Shaw said, glancing at him a few minutes later, after breathing and pulses had calmed a little. "What was that about?"<p>

"You know what it was about." Sam's hand was starting to ache a little actually. He rubbed his knuckles with his other hand, feeling a very slight swelling. He flexed his hand. Not broken. Just jarred from the impact. It had been one hell of a punch. A smile flickered briefly across his face in the dark cab of the truck. But it was gone almost before it began.

"He could file charges against you, you know that?" Shaw actually sounded upset at the prospect; not just disapproving. Worried maybe. "That guy… You know he'd do it in a heartbeat."

"Who cares?" Sam muttered, eyes still out the window.

"_I'll be here waiting for you._

_Every day._

_I promise."_

Next to him, Shaw was shaking his head, a quiet incredulous laugh working its way out between his lips. "You need to get your head on straight. I know that McNally –"

"No," Sam warned, voice quiet and tight. "I've talked about her enough today." Shaw pulled the truck up to the curb outside Sam's house and before he could say anything else, Sam was out the door, striding up the walk to his front door. Oliver cut the engine and followed him.

"Swarek," he started again as he walked up the steps but Sam turned towards him and snatched his keys back, picking out the one to his door. "Sammy, you've gotta do something about this."

Sam barked out a laugh as he forced the key into the lock and let himself in. "I'm pretty sure I just did." He left the door open and, taking it as an invitation, Shaw stepped inside and looked around. Sam knew what he was looking for; signs that he really was falling apart. Dirty dishes stacked around the house, trash piling up, laundry draped over the furniture. Too bad. The house was neat as a pin; as usual. He couldn't have sworn to it, but he thought maybe Oliver relaxed a little.

"I'm serious. Maybe you should talk to someone."

"It's not your problem," Sam said evasively as he walked into the dark kitchen, reached up above the fridge and dragged out the last of his scotch. He split it between two glasses and handed one to Shaw. Oliver took it, held it in his hand, but didn't even sip at it.

"You just made it my problem. What happens if Jerry can't convince Callaghan to look the other way?"

Sam flashed a menacing grin. "I already told you. I don't care." He tossed back half of his drink and then walked out to the dining room, leaving the lights off.

"Right." Shaw followed him, stopping short when Sam came to a quick halt in front of him. "What is it?" Sam didn't answer. He turned his entire body to the table, to the box sitting on top. He finished off his drink, and the glass rattled against the table as he released it half an inch too high. Then his hands were on the box, and all of a sudden, the lid was off and he was inside.

He told himself that he didn't know what he was looking for; that he had no idea at all. But he was lying. He dug through the stuff. Her personal papers were tucked in carefully against the side, pressed in against a stack of framed photos he remembered seeing in her apartment. There were envelopes full of more photos, each easily half an inch thick, with dates that were years old scrawled on the outside next to the price tags. Next came her iPod, a stack of old letters and cards from birthdays past, and that was it. He picked through it again, a little more frantically.

"Sam…" Shaw was saying over his shoulder, but Sam ignored him. He turned the box over, papers and pictures alike scattering in a hundred directions and he pushed everything around, keeping his eyes off the photographs. He wanted to find something, anything that could tell him that she'd been thinking of him, of them, while she packed up her life. With each passing second, he became more and more desperate for some sort of communication, intentional or otherwise. But there was nothing. No hastily written note, no pieces of their past together. They hadn't been together long enough to collect much, but still, he'd expected _something._

Sam backed away from the table. Wedged in along all the confusion and selfishness and general frenzy that was pumping through his body was an anger that had exploded in a fiery blast in the parking lot of the Penny and was even now, doing a slow burn through his chest. And Dr. Curtis was right. It didn't make sense. Not even a little bit. But it didn't mean it wasn't there.

"Sammy," Shaw said slowly, eyes moving between the table and where Sam was now perched on the back of his sofa.

Sam shook his head and scrubbed both hands over his face. "Just…" He shook his head. "Just get rid of it."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Sam shrugged. "I can't have it here. I just…" He took a deep breath. "If it's still here when you leave, I don't know. I'll throw it out, burn it, something. You have to take it," he said, a note of finality ringing in his tone.

Oliver gave him one more look and then started scooping Andy's stuff back into the box. "Computer?"

"Take everything. Here." He stood up, pulled the photograph Gail had given to him out of his pocket and tossed it in on top of everything. Without asking, Shaw picked it up and looked at it and then after a long moment, he turned back to his friend.

Oliver took a deep breath and then, tossing the photo onto the table, folded his arms and looked at his shoes. "Look, Sammy. I'm sorry. I just didn't want Peck to make it worse, okay?" Sam didn't say anything, just stared at him from his spot against the couch. "I thought she should wait. I guess, until I knew you wouldn't do something stupid. So, you know. That worked out," he joked feebly. Sam didn't even crack a smile. "I know this hasn't been easy for you, but you can't just crawl into a hole whenever you have a bad day. And you can't go knock Callaghan around just because you miss her."

"That's not what this was about," Sam argued, looking him straight in the eye.

"Then what?" Shaw held up the picture. "I mean, it's this right? Let's think back." Sam rolled his eyes. "You were fine. We were sitting there, having a beer, and you were fine. Then Peck gives you the picture, even though I told her not to," Shaw said, pointing a finger at him. "And then you just snap. So, tell me. If it's not because you miss her, what is it?"

"It's none of your business," Sam snarled, feeling backed into a corner.

"I don't care," Shaw said loudly. "I wanna know. And I want you to tell me. Because if I get called in tomorrow to give my account of what happened tonight, I want to know why I'm lying for you." Sam just stared at him in surprise. Shaw shrugged. "What? I blinked. I didn't see it."

Sam shifted uncomfortably, starting to feel a little bit like an asshole. "I'm just mad okay?" he admitted finally. "I don't get why that's so hard to understand."

Oliver shook his head. "No. Not good enough."

Sam stood up and ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "Maybe I just hate Callaghan," he said finally with a bitter laugh. He walked over to the fireplace and put a hand on the mantle, steadying himself a little.

"Sammy, the entire division knows you can't stand the guy. It's not a secret."

"Well, then no one will be surprised to hear that I punched him in the face." He flashed a somewhat proud grin at Oliver, but when it wasn't returned, Sam rolled his eyes again. "Look, I just lost it, okay? No secret meaning behind it."

"Yeah, well you can't do that, and you know it." Sam didn't respond; he just kept staring down into the fireplace. "I know that this has been hard on you…"

"Hard?" he repeated, laughing again. "Give me break,"

"I know it's been _hard on you_," Oliver repeated slowly, raising his eyebrows. "But things will get better. I promise."

"Don't," Sam snapped, head whipping around. "Promises are shit. They don't mean anything."

Shaw's eyebrows drew together as he looked at him. Like possibly, he'd just lost his mind. "What are you talking about?"

Sam walked across the room to the doorway leading back to the bedroom and leaned against the molding. "Nothing, man." His hands found their way to the back of his neck and he tried to rub the tension out. "Just… Just nothing."

Shaw shrugged. "Fine. Just let me call Zoe and tell her that I'm gonna be late." Sam looked at him in confusion. "Oh, right. Ah, I'm not leaving until we finish this." Oliver's eyebrows were sky-high as he looked at his friend. "So, you can either tell me now, or we can sit here and stare at each other for an hour or two and _then_ you can tell me."

"It's stupid," Sam muttered, almost to himself.

"I don't care. Tell me anyway."

Sam's eyes found his. "It's going to make me sound like a prick."

"I hate to break it to you, but it wouldn't exactly be the first time." Shaw gave him a grin.

He made a face; he was embarrassed. Just saying the words, he felt like some teenager who got stood up at prom. "She promised she'd be here."

The smile faded from Shaw's face as the words sunk in. "What do you mean?"

"She said that when I came back, she'd be here, waiting," Sam said quietly, and then he turned his head, eyes looking away, down the hall.

Oliver frowned, a little mystified. "Sammy, you know she couldn't help it."

His eyes snapped back to Shaw, suddenly full of fire. "She didn't have to stay in that apartment after that asshole left. She didn't have to go running around that hospital."

"Well, no, she didn't, but ah…. You know that this is a little…"

"Crazy? Yeah. I know. But I can't help it." He shrugged, making a noise that sounded like bitter surprise. "It's like it's there in my head, and no matter how many times I tell myself that it's not her fault, I'm still mad at her. She didn't look out for herself. And now, she's not here." He slid down the wall until he was sitting against it, legs bent at the knees. "I'm mad at her because she's not here," he said again, not quite realizing the truth of the statement until right that second. That was it. The rest was just bullshit; stuff he needed to dig through to get to the heart of the matter.

Oliver moved closer, sat down on the arm of the couch, right across from him and watched him. "Buddy, this was out of her control. She didn't want to leave. She had to." He spoke calmly, trying to keep control of the situation. "And something tells me that she wouldn't have left so easily unless you told her to. Unless you said she had to." He raised his eyebrows questioningly, looking for some sort of agreement. Sam stared back at him for a few seconds and then, his eyes slid away. "You told her to go," Shaw said again quietly. "So, who are you really mad at here?"

Sam just sat there, arms crossed angrily across his chest and stared at him. Oliver wasn't saying it, but for some reason the words were bouncing around in Sam's head. _And you left first, buddy. Don't forget that._ He shifted his eyes down to the floor.

Shaw let out a frustrated breath. And then, he heard a horn honk outside. He stood up from the couch and walked back over to the table, hefting Andy's box and holding it up against his midsection.

"That's Jerry. Are you sure you still want me to take this?"

Sam tipped his head back against the wall and looked at him through slitted eyes. He honestly had no idea. He shook his head. "I don't know."

Oliver stood there for a few moments and tapped his fingers against the cardboard as the thought about it. "Well, maybe I'll take it, just in case you decide to build a fire. It's freezing in here by the way." He turned toward the exit, had his hand on the doorknob before Sam spoke again.

"I went to him, you know," Sam said suddenly. When he paused, Shaw turned around and fixed him with a stare. "I went to Boyd and told him I couldn't go undercover. That I needed to stay here with her." He pursed his lips for a moment and then nodded, looking down at the floor. "And then I let him talk me into it anyway."

Oliver took a step towards him and then stopped when Sam shook his head. "Sammy, you were doing your job. There's nothing wrong with that. And it wouldn't have mattered-"

"You don't know that." His eyes met Oliver's for a few seconds, and then he shook his head and looked away. "I should never have left," Sam said quietly. And then as Oliver watched him, he rolled up onto his knees, pushed himself to his feet and walked down the hallway to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>February 14 (Tuesday)<strong>

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," Andy muttered under her breath as she stirred through the tangle of chains inside her grandmother's jewelry box. After a few seconds, she upended it on the top of the dresser and quickly started pulling necklaces apart. Frustrated and not finding what she was looking for, she scooped the whole mess back into the box and then started going through the dresser drawers, one at a time.

It was possible that while she was carrying her possessions around for those many weeks, the jewelry box had spilled into her bag, that she might have unknowingly moved her lucky necklace into a drawer with an arm-load of clothing. But as her nails scratched against the pressed wood, she heard no metallic _clink _noise, nothing but the soft rustle of fabric. She shoved the last drawer shut and put her hands on her hips as she tried to remember the last time she'd seen it.

It was a necklace that had been given to her along with the box, along with the rest of her grandmother's jewelry. But it had been in the family for a few generations; a basic silver chain with a small, simple four-leafed clover charm. Her grandmother had worn it every day for as long as she could remember, and after her death, it'd come to Andy. Not one to wear much jewelry on a day to day basis, she took it out only on special occasions and on days when she needed a little extra luck. Graduations, first dates, exam days, and job interviews. Which was why she needed it today.

The Monday after her first weekend in the house, Stone had shown up with a newspaper and a fist-full of job openings printed from the internet. Between the two of them, they'd put together a few versions of the same resume, each geared towards a different field of employment: clerical, service, and general labor. Stone had left her around dinnertime with instructions to fill out as many applications as possible by the time she returned a few days later. Tired out, Andy had set the stack of paper aside and forgotten about it until Thursday when Stone called to say she was coming back into town.

By the time Stone had arrived in early evening that day, Andy had completed over a dozen online applications and stuck resumes and cover letters into another half dozen envelopes to be sent out with the morning's mail. It took less than a week for her to start getting phone calls, to start scheduling meetings. And today, almost two weeks she began applying, she not only had her first interview, she had back to back interviews. The first was for a full time front desk position at a hotel, and the second for a data entry position with an IT company in town. She wasn't entirely enthused with either option. But she'd promised that she'd make an effort. Plus, the sooner she was employed, the sooner Stone would be off her ass. Hence, the need for her lucky necklace.

She tapped her fingers against her hip bones. She was all dressed; brown trousers, blue button up with a sweater over the top. But she needed that clover. She walked over to the closet, dragged the duffel out of the corner and shook it. There was a little noise, a sound of something light and hard moving against the polyester fabric of the bag. She exhaled in relief and set the bag on the bed, running her hand around under the liner until she felt the cool grainy metal of the chain. She pulled out the necklace, smiling in relief, and picked up the bag to replace it in the closet. But as it shifted in her hand, she heard the noise again, a sort of dry rattling.

She frowned, confused, and again, put the bag on the bed and started checking the corners, the folds, under the liner. And then, she stuck her hand in the small zipper pocket right near the top. As soon as her fingers closed around the object, she knew what it was, instantly remembered placing it in that pocket months before. As she removed her hand, and her eyes landed on the small blue memory card pinned between her fingers, the clover necklace fell from her hand onto the bed.

Andy felt her pulse pick up as she stared at the memory card for a few seconds. And then she checked her watch. She literally had five minutes to get out the door and on the road if she didn't want to be late getting to her first interview. But, how long could it really take to pull up a few pictures on the computer?

A split second later, Andy was out of the room and on the couch in the living room, back against the arm, legs folded in front of her, memory card jammed into the slot on the side of the laptop. There were over a hundred photographs, and as thumbnails started loading, she clicked on the first one.

It was a picture of her and her dad at her graduation from the academy, the day he'd given her the camera. She clicked through the photos quickly, slowing more the further she got through the folder, taking time to pause on several of her and her friends at the Penny, at work, on their days off. She hadn't quite realized how much she missed them until she saw them staring out at her from the computer. Dov's smirk as he passed Tracy a shot, a picture of Gail and Chris sharing a kiss in the corner of the Penny before things went south for them, a picture of Andy, Traci, Dov and Chris the night they were cut loose.

It was weird, really, because she was okay. More often than not, she found herself smiling as she sat there, even laughing a few times as she remembered Gail trouncing Dov at darts, and Chris' last birthday when they'd practically had to pour him into a cab at the end of the night.

And then, she was suddenly very _not okay_. The pictures changed from darker lit photos taken inside the Penny or inside the station to blurry motion shots, colored with gold and red. In one, Andy caught sight of the flat of a palm off to one side, of a hairy calf on the next, and then, after clicking through half a dozen out of focus shots, she came to the one she'd been holding her breath for.

Throughout the slideshow, she hadn't noticed time passing. And as her eyes fell on the last photo, she stopped noticing everything. She didn't hear the car driving down her street, or the heat kicking on in the basement, or the radio playing away in the bedroom. She didn't notice that she'd been sitting in the dark living room, curtains pulled against the morning light for the better part of an hour, and she didn't notice her feet falling asleep, tucked hard against her thighs.

She hadn't seen this picture since her last day of work with Terry, since right before parade that day. She and Sam were cozied up together in bed, faces a light with love and laughter. Without realizing it, she reached out to stroke a finger down the line of his face, pulling her hand back at the last second, as if touching it would somehow taint the memory. There was no one word to describe the emotion flooding her right then. In among the sadness and the longing was a strange sense of joy at the sight of his face and a sudden lightening of her heart. And then an unexpected potent feeling of guilt.

Part of it was because of her brain, because he looked slightly different than she remembered. Her memory had smoothed over the lines around his eyes, the slight crookedness of his smile, the way his eyelashes were almost ridiculously long, so they looked like dark smudges against his eyes. The other part… The part she was trying not to think about was how they'd said all sorts of things that night; or rather she had. How she'd made promises she'd had every intention of keeping, had things been different; had they been normal.

"_It's probably going to be a while, you know…._

_It could be a long time."_

Andy closed her eyes for a second, holding onto the sound of his voice in her head, holding onto the way he'd smelled like soap and her shampoo, and how his skin had been hot against hers. The weight of him on top of her, the possessiveness of his fingers as they glided down over her.

"_Promise me that I'll come back and it'll be just like this."_

She opened her eyes again and tipped her head down, focusing one more time on the computer screen as she let go, allowing the guilt to just swim through her veins. It was irrational, and in no way her fault, but she'd left him alone. He'd been trying to hide it, the fear that she'd move on. Though, even now, there was absolutely no way she could imagine herself loving anyone else. So, she'd played along, reassuring him, meaning every word. But after all her amusement at his worries and after all her promising, she'd ultimately left him alone.

After a few minutes, Andy shifted the laptop to the crappy put-it-together-yourself coffee table she'd picked up the day before and turned onto her side, pillowing her head on her arm as she continued to stare at the screen. As time continued to tick by, Andy's eyes grew wet and heavy and finally, they fell shut.

* * *

><p>The phone was ringing. Andy sat up groggily in the dark room, trying to get her bearings. The sun was almost down, deepening the shadows in the room, and her laptop had long ago shut itself off. But the ringing continued. Andy started patting around the sofa, eyes still glued shut with sleep and tears. Finally, she pulled it out of her pocket and answered groggily.<p>

"Yeah."

There was a slight hesitation. "Please tell me you sound like that because your interviews were so exhausting and not because you're just getting out of bed."

Her interviews…fuck. Andy checked her watch. Too late to call and reschedule now.

"No, I uh… I got up early today."

"Good, listen, I'm just coming into town. Have you eaten?"

Though she knew Stone couldn't see her, Andy shook her head. "No."

"Big surprise. I'm stopping for Chinese. Be at your place in twenty minutes."

"Yeah," Andy said as Stone hung up. "Sounds good," she muttered to the dead phone. Again she looked at her watch. Twenty minutes meant she had time to go through the pictures one last time.

By the time Stone arrived, the memory card had been dropped into the blue glass votive holder, hidden under Andy's bed next to the lock box, and Andy was in a mood. The first few rounds of pictures had leveled her, bringing on tears and memories of times she'd all but forgotten. But this last look through… It set her on edge.

Seeing images of her and her friends in uniform, in the locker room, after work and seeing the one picture of her and Sam, it made her miss it in a different way. It made her want it all back, _now_.

She was bristling, stalking back and forth through the empty dining room as Stone knocked on the door. Andy walked over to the front door and threw it open.

"You have a key." She walked away, leaving Stone to shut and lock the door behind her, though she was heavily-laden with brown paper sacks.

Stone raised an eyebrow. "I only took a key to make you feel better. It's supposed to be for emergencies." She glanced around. "Why's it so dark in here?"

"No reason," Andy mumbled as she flipped on the lights in the kitchen. She leaned back against the counter and watched Stone start unpacking the bags.

"So?" Jill led, giving her looks over her shoulder as cartons of sesame chicken and fried rice were put out.

"So, what?"

"So, how did the interviews go?"

"Oh." Andy turned around and pulled the cheap plastic plates down from the cupboards. "Good, I guess. They said they'd call," she lied. As she spun back around, plates and glasses in hand, she found Stone watching her, an unamused expression on her face. "What?"

"You've got to be the worst liar I've ever met."

Andy pushed out an uncomfortable laugh as she set down the dishes. "I'm not lying."

"Fine." Stone put her hands on her hips and stared at her. "Tell me again how they went."

Andy crossed her arms over her chest and against her will, her eyes skittered off to the side and off Stone's face. "They were-"

"You're lying," Stone accused, not even waiting for her to finish. She gave a short annoyed laugh and then reached into another paper bag and extracted a bottle of beer, giving the cap a twist and tossing it into the trash. "Goddamn it, Andy." She took a long pull and then shook her head as she swallowed. "Did you even go?"

"Are you supposed to be drinking while you're here?" Andy asked obnoxiously, trying to deflect whatever Stone was about to throw at her.

"I'm off the clock. Did you even go?" she repeated, the last word lilting a little, volume coming up a touch.

Andy rolled her eyes and then sucked in a breath and ran her hands through her hair, trying to gather herself. She was searching for a decent, reasonable excuse, but in the end, simply settled with, "I had a bad day, okay?"

Stone gave her an incredulous look. "No, it's not okay. I know that it's Valentine's Day, and you're sad, or whatever, but this day is hard on everybody. It doesn't mean you can just -"

"It's Valentine's Day?" Andy interrupted, her voice suddenly tiny. She glanced at the small calendar hanging on the fridge and as her eyes moved over the date, every feeling inside her condensed into a hard little knot in her chest. She clenched her jaw and reached into the bag for her own beer, leaving the cap on the counter. Stone snatched it up and pitched it hard into the trash as Andy downed half the bottle in one shot. When she looked back, Stone was staring at her white-faced, head moving side to side slowly, practically vibrating with anger. "What?" she snapped.

"You need to start taking this seriously," Stone said, each word dropping from her lips with a deliberateness that hinted at incredible restraint.

Andy's eyebrows shot up. She spread her arms wide, gesturing at the empty house around her. "I _am _taking this seriously."

"Really? Because skipping these interviews leads me to believe otherwise." Stone's volume was rising, not exactly a common occurrence, but Andy wasn't backing down. Not this time.

"I didn't do it on purpose, okay? Besides, what does it matter? I don't want to work in some factory, or behind a desk somewhere. I want my old job back. I want my life back," she said loudly, setting her bottle down hard on the counter

"This_ is_ your life now," Stone hissed vehemently, stepping right up to her, face tipped up stubbornly. Andy actually took a step back. "The sooner you accept that, the better. For everyone." She threw her hands up. "For you, for me, for…" She shook her head and took a deep breath through her nose. "For whoever else you're thinking about right now. Unless of course you want to tear up the protection order. I could have you on a plane by midnight." Her eyebrows were up, and the obstinate tilt of her chin almost had Andy saying 'yes', just to stick it to her. But in the end, she took a step back and shook her head, turning away.

She kept staring at Andy, waiting for her words to sink in and when Andy finally averted her eyes, Stone turned around, moved back towards the counter with the food.

"I just," Andy began and then exhaled loudly. "I don't understand why I can't be a cop here. Or do dispatch, something. I think it would make things easier."

"We've been over this," Stone replied in a bored tone. It was the tone she used with Andy when she was trying desperately to wrangle her patience. "I can get you through a basic background check, but I can't get a bunch of cops to lie and say you worked for them. Anyway, it probably wouldn't be as easy as you think. You don't know anyone here; they aren't going to be like your friends from back home." She opened a fortune cookie, broke it in half and tossed the fortune onto the counter without even looking at it. After eating a small piece of it, she looked at Andy again. "And besides, it's a specialized field. Bishop's going to be looking for a cop. Someone in that area."

"It's not like I'm a brain surgeon or anything. There are thousands of cops in this country," Andy muttered, still thinking about the remark about her friends.

Stone just rolled her eyes and snatched a carton of fried rice, a set of chopsticks and her beer and stalked out of the room. Kicking the wooden dowel out of the way, she wrenched open the sliding door and stepped through, slamming it behind her.

For a minute, Andy was content to just let her stand out there in the cold. She finished the rest of her beer, set the bottle on the counter, and glanced out the window over the sink. Stone was sitting on the edge of the deck, facing the trees behind the house, legs hanging off, chopsticks jerking sharply as she fixed rice out of the box. She wasn't wearing her coat any longer, and Andy was pretty sure she saw her shiver in the cold February air, but she didn't move from that spot, didn't even tuck her legs under her.

Andy cursed and grabbed Stone's coat and her own and a fork. Then she stepped through the door herself and walked out to where Stone was perched and thrust the coat at her.

"Here."

Stone took it, wordlessly and as Andy sank down next to her, she handed Andy the food and stuck her arms into the garment, wrapping it tightly around herself.

They sat there together, both picking out of the same box until Stone leaned away and took one last gulp of her beer and then looked at her.

"This isn't working, Andy."

"It working fine," she mumbled around a mouthful. And then, when Stone didn't answer, she looked at over, found her watching her. "What? It is. We don't have to get along all the time."

"Or at all?" Stone replied. She was shaking her head, looking weirdly like a teacher disappointed in her student. "Do you know what I've been doing all day?"

"How would I?" Andy asked, tone surly as she braced herself for the impact.

Stone looked away and tapped her bottle against the wood under her thigh. "I've been in meetings all day, trying to convince my superiors that you're fitting in. That you're making an effort." Andy glanced at her quickly. Stone laughed to herself, a harsh, grating sound. "They're worried you're not taking to this move. Because if you're not taking to it, you're more likely to make a mistake; to put yourself in danger." Her hand moved to her pocket absently, a reflex. "God, I could use a cigarette right now," she muttered. At Andy's look of surprise, she shrugged. "I quit four years ago. Still hits me every now and then." She held up the beer bottle in explanation.

"I've only been here a few weeks," Andy mumbled, scooping up another mouthful. "They need to give me more time."

Stone snorted. "I've been filing weekly reports since I got you out of Toronto. It's been almost two months," she said, nodding when Andy looked at her in surprise. "You know why they're worried?" Stone continued a moment later, Andy shook her head.

Stone took a deep breath through her nose and then crossed her arms and looked Andy straight in the eye. "Because they found the guy who tried to kill you the first time. Evan Malone? Weston walked right into his sister's house and put a bullet between his eyes." Andy lifted her chin a little, trying to keep her breathing under control, her face expressionless, even though her heart started racing at the mere mention of Weston's name. "That's how serious this is," Stone said simply, laying it out for her. "They're killing off their own guys to keep them quiet. Because other than you? They're the only ones who know what really happened that night." She lifted her eyebrows. "So, think about that the next time you decide to make this just a little more difficult on yourself. And on me."

Andy's fingers were clenched tightly in the fabric of her pants, white-knuckled and she pulled her legs up, folding them under her for good measure. "When did that happen?" she finally whispered.

"Almost three weeks ago."

Andy frowned. "So, why am I just hearing about it now?"

Stone arched an eyebrow. "Been sleeping with the lights on lately? Been sleeping _at all_ lately?"

Andy rolled her eyes. "It's getting better."

"Well, anyway, I waited because I was working my ass off, trying to get you some good news before I gave you the bad news." She paused, and she was making that look she always made when she was trying to decide exactly how much to share and how much to hold in. Finally, she just held out her hand and shrugged. "Didn't work out."

"What was the good news supposed to be?" Andy asked, passing back the carton of rice.

Stone took it and took another bite of cold rice before she answered. "Give me another couple weeks. I'll tell you then." She kicked her legs a little, heels digging into the ground below. "Seriously, though, Andy… We've gotta figure this thing out. If we can't reach some sort of halfway point, they're going to give your case to someone else."

"No." The word was out of Andy's mouth faster than a bullet, and a glimmer of a smile passed over Stone's face as she concentrated on her dinner.

She nodded. "They will. If they doubt my effectiveness, if they doubt my ability to keep you in line, they'll assign someone else. Could be McBride, but probably not." She glanced over. "And believe me, no one else is going to be more sympathetic. You think you've got it bad now, just wait."

Andy shoved her hands in her pockets and used her heels to scrape at the frozen ground. If Stone was attempting to make her feel like a spoiled child, she'd succeeded. "So, what do I do? I mean, I didn't miss the interviews on purpose. I just…" She exhaled. "I just got caught up in something. I forgot," she admitted quietly.

Stone shrugged. "Call 'em back. Beg for another chance." She pulled her legs up, crowded her skinny knees to her chest and wrapped her coat around them. "You do what you have to do to survive. Physically, mentally and financially. The checks won't last forever. You need to get something put away for emergencies. In case something happens and we have to move you again."

Andy was listening, nodding with each point made, but her attention was on the trees framing the edge of the yard, on the darkness contained beyond them. She wasn't sure why, but beyond all reason, the idea of them sitting out there, facing the forest, wasn't scary to Andy. It could have held a hundred assassins, but the quiet rustle of the wind through the branches and the sounds of cars on the streets around her house were calming. Stone bumped her with her shoulder.

"And look, I'm not saying 'never' to the whole dispatch idea. Just," she paused as she sucked in a breath. "Just not now. Not for a while, okay?"

"How long?" Andy asked, tilting her head to look at her.

Stone shrugged. "I'd like the case to be sewn up first. So far, things aren't going so well."

"They haven't found anyone else?" When Stone answered in the negative, Andy frowned. "What about the other Malone?"

"Gone before the cops showed. He could be face-down in a ditch as far as we know. And even if they make arrests, the trials could drag on. So, realistically, I don't know. A year, maybe two. That would give me time to put something together for you, some convincing references, a more thorough work history."

Andy had stopped listening after "a year." She tried to wrap her mind around the length of a year, as compared to the two months she'd already spent. Six times the tears and the confusion and the feeling of being constantly adrift. Of course, now that she was in the house, and after she got a job, time would probably pass more quickly. But that thought started a completely different kind of panic. Even scarier than the thought of time lurching by like stop and go traffic, was the thought of it speeding ahead, each day like the next; three hundred days later, and still she'd be here alone.

She'd been trying to talk herself out of it, out of feeling like she couldn't pull this whole thing off. The first two months she and Sam had been apart, he'd been undercover, and other than a few phone calls, they'd had virtually no contact. Really, it shouldn't have been so different, or that much more difficult to do a couple more months. But it had been. The distinct feeling of finality, the idea that kept getting thrown around that she was never going home, that she would never again be able to just sit there next to him, fingers tangled together on his thigh; it had been marring every second of these two months. She couldn't even comprehend the thought of a year of that, let alone any longer.

"So," Stone was saying as she rubbed her hands together, pulling Andy out of her ruminations. "This thing you got caught up in… What was it?"

Andy shook her head. "Nothing," she admitted finally, throat sore with unshed tears. "Just memories."

"What brought on these memories?" Stone asked, voice instantly suspicious; more out of habit than out of any actual concern. But Andy had had enough of her dancing around the whole Sam issue.

"Nothing, okay?" Andy said sharply, glaring at her. "You know, it's not like I can just forget about him. And even if I could, I wouldn't." She sucked in a heavy breath. "I just miss him." She pulled her knees up, put her chin down on top of them. "Every day I miss him. All the time. Not just when it's convenient."

Stone was giving her a troubled look. "Andy, no one's telling you to _forget_. And I realize that all of this, it's a lot to ask, but…"

"Do you?" Andy interrupted. "Because sometimes, you act like I should just be able to switch it on and off and I can't. _You_ might be built that way, but I'm not." She rested her arms on top of her knees and leaned her forehead down on them, hot breath swirling inside her coat, over her thighs as she tried to calm herself down.

"No one's_ built_ that way," Stone murmured. Andy turned her head and looked at her. Stone was staring off into the trees, fingers absentmindedly moving against the paper carton, folding, unfolding, refolding the top. "You have to force it. You just keep waking up every day, doing your best to ignore it, to forget, and then one day, however far down the line, you realize that it just doesn't hurt like it used to. And that someday, you might actually be okay." Andy stared at her, a little lost for words. Her tone was hushed, an uncharacteristic mix of sadness and vulnerability and for a long moment, Andy was thrown, completely dumbfounded. Never in a million years would Stone open up about her personal life and not for the first time, Andy wondered what exactly was underneath the pressed suits, the Type A behavior, and the icy personality.

"Jill," she said, frowning slightly. "Is there anything…. I mean, do you want to talk or something?"

Stone snorted and tipped her head down, giving it a little shake. "You want to help? Get yourself a job. Go talk to that neighbor of yours, make some friends. That'll get us both out of hot water. At least for a while." She looked up again, and then towards Andy and bobbed her eyebrows. "I'm freezing my ass off. Let's go back in."

* * *

><p>And so, that was how Andy found herself in the little blue house across the street the next afternoon, sitting nervously at Rebecca's dining room table, a mug of coffee cupped tightly between her hands. It'd taken her all of two minutes to realize that Rebecca was not only completely lacking in shyness or shame, but she had absolutely no qualms about extracting information in the most obvious ways. She'd beaten around the bush for possibly ten seconds before jumping right in and getting to the good stuff.<p>

"So, you're not married, right? I mean, you live alone, so obviously…" Andy's eyebrows shot up. "Are you seeing anyone?" Rebecca shrugged at her puzzled expression. "Couple of single guys in the neighborhood."

Andy shook her head. "I'm uh…" She bit her lip. "I'm not looking, I guess. For a boyfriend, I mean. A job, yes," she reminded her. Rebecca also seemed to be easily distracted from the matter at hand.

"So, what?" She flipped her long hair over her shoulder. "You've got someone back in…?" She arched an eyebrow in question.

"Um, Winnipeg," Andy blurted out, hoping Rebecca hadn't spent much time there. She added that tidbit to her ever-increasing mental bank of phony details about her history, praying it would stick.

She shrugged. "Could be farther I guess. You're doing the long distance thing, then?" She tapped her nails against her coffee cup and at the expression on her face, Andy had a brief flashback of the interrogation room at 15; except this time she was on the other side of the table. It made her squirm a little.

"It's kind of hard to explain, actually." Andy brought her cup to her mouth and took a large swallow. "So, the interview?"

Rebecca nodded, and after giving her one last probing look, stood up from the table. "Yeah. Let me just give my brother a call. You're okay with money, right? Don't have a criminal record?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Why?"

"It's just an open spot at the bank. Teller position. The last girl went on maternity leave and decided to not go back to work. My brother's the manager and he's a little desperate. Not a _ton_ of money."

Andy winced at the thought of spending eight hours a day behind a counter, but when Rebecca raised her eyebrows, she waved her hand, signaling her to continue. If she blew a sure thing, Stone would shoot her and bury her in the backyard. "No, it's fine. Make the call." She licked her lips. "By the way, I really appreciate this. You doing this," she added, not wanting to seem ungrateful.

Rebecca gave her a quick smile, hit a button on her phone and walked around the corner into the kitchen. Andy stood up and wandered through the playroom/living room, peeking down into brightly colored totes full of dolls and videos. The house was clearly very lived in, very loved. There were children's scrawlings pinned up along the wall in the play area near the television, the remnants of a blanket fort strung between the two recliners. She reached out and turned off the television; the volume had been muted anyway. No one was watching it.

"It's all set up," Rebecca said from behind her, and Andy jerked a little and spun around. Her neighbor stared at her curiously. "Jumpy. Why are you so nervous?"

How could Andy explain that it had been almost eight weeks since she'd been alone in a building with someone other than Stone; that it had been almost two months since she'd been responsible to hold a conversation with a stranger? She felt out of practice and now there was this brand new life to account for. Luckily, Rebecca was moving on without an explanation. "The interview is set up for tomorrow. If it goes okay, he said the paperwork would only take a few days. Something wrong?" she asked as Andy continued to watch her almost indifferently, absolutely no trace of excitement present on her face.

Andy shook her head and gave her an obligatory flash of teeth. "No, that sounds great. What exactly would I be doing?"

Rebecca shrugged. "Talking to customers, cashing checks, making deposits? Really, I have no idea. It all sounds very boring to me." Andy smirked. Boring wasn't a strong enough word. "But it'll pay the bills, right?"

Andy edged around the dining room, slowly making her way nearer to the door. "What do you do?"

Rebecca smirked. "I've done a little of everything. Right now, I work at the hospital, in the lab. Also boring. We might have a reception opening there, if you want me to check," she said arching a questioning brow.

Andy shook her head quickly. Memories of her last night spent in a hospital had been playing on repeat since she'd heard the news about Evan Malone. "No. No hospitals." Rebecca was giving her a look of confused amusement. "They kind of creep me out," she explained with a weak shrug.

Rebecca hesitated for a moment and then nodded. "Yeah, I suppose they can be a little scary. At night, anyway. Quiet. But during the day there'd be people all over. You probably wouldn't even have time to be creeped out."

Andy shook her head again. "I don't think so. The bank should be fine. Thanks, again." She ran a hand through her hair and gave her a quick smile. Then she walked past Rebecca to the door.

"Hey, Abby, wait." She froze, hand on the doorknob. "You don't get to just come over and ask me for a favor and then leave again."

Andy turned and looked at her suspiciously. "Isn't that what neighbors do?"

"Uh, no. Neighbors are…well, neighborly." Rebecca gave her a quick grin. "Stay for dinner. I've got to pick my girls up from my mom's in a few minutes, and I have big plans for fish sticks." Andy hesitated, and Rebecca took that as a sign to step forward, to push a little harder. "Look, you've been here a few weeks, and the only person I've seen you talk to is your cousin. And between you and me," she lowered her voice conspiratorially. "She can't be very good company."

A flicker of a smile passed over Andy's face. "She's not that bad. Just takes some getting used to."

"Well, either way, you should just say yes. I have a feeling you don't have anything else going on."

Andy paused for half a beat. She hadn't realized she'd been under a microscope the whole time she'd been in the neighborhood. It was unsettling. She glanced at her watch. Almost five. She figured dinner would take an hour tops. With any luck, she'd be home and in her pajamas by eight. And Stone wanted her to fit in. "Okay. Yeah." She nodded. "I'll just come back in a half hour? Is that enough time?" It would give Andy another thirty minutes to run over her cover story, to remind herself she was Abby McAllister.

Rebecca nodded. "Yeah, that should be fine." She smiled and Andy felt herself smiling back, and then she turned away and left the house.

* * *

><p>A little over an hour later, Andy was back in the same chair, watching Rebecca clear plates as her two girls flew from the table over to their play area. The interrogation had been put on hold for most of dinner; she'd been more concerned with her kids finishing their food, listening with an interested ear to what her older daughter had done in school that day. For the most part, Andy just sat back and watched.<p>

The three of them had a system down, that was for sure. AJ, the eight-year-old trailed her mother in the kitchen beforehand, carrying the milk, the silverware. She got her younger sister into her booster, pushed her up to the table, and then watched Andy with round blue eyes as Rebecca carried their food over. And then while Rebecca and Andy made small talk about the town, about the freakishly warm winter, AJ helped her mother coax two-year-old Maddie to eat.

Finally they'd all had their fill and Andy rotated in her chair watching the kids pull toys out of the crates in the corner. They were blissfully unaware of her eyes on them, and seemed content to play only with each other. AJ had jammed a faded blue baseball cap onto her head, backwards, so the brim tapped her lightly between the shoulder blades when she crouched down or tipped her head up.

"So," Rebecca said as she sat down again, setting a glass of wine in front of Andy. "Let's hear it. Life story time."

Andy froze, eyebrows up, face tightening as her mind blanked. A light laugh erupted from Rebecca.

"Sorry to put you on the spot. It wasn't supposed to be a stumper though." Andy looked away, bringing the wine glass to her mouth, trying to hide the deep breath she was exhaling. When Rebecca's hand fell briefly over her own, her eyes shot up to her. "Look, it's okay. You don't need to show all your cards at once. Smarter not to, actually." She leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, kicking her foot a little. "I'll go first, okay? You want to know my deepest darkest secret?" She looked expectantly at Andy, who nodded, glad to have the attention off herself for a while. "I'm a loser magnet. Seriously. Stick me in the middle of a room full of men, and in seconds I can tell you which ones are completely unsuitable for marriage. How? Because those are the guys that I attract. Guys with no job, guys that live with their mothers, guys who like to slap their girlfriends around… They line up. Seriously."

Andy smirked a little and then noticed Rebecca looking at her expectantly, sort of like '_your turn'_. She shrugged. "I don't really have any big secrets." She gulped at her wine.

"Well, tell me something else. Like…" she paused dramatically, eyebrows arching high as her grin widened. "What's the story with your guy?"

"Um," Andy bit her lip. "No story really. Just long distance."

"Well, why'd you move here?"

Andy bobbed her eyebrows; this story she'd prepared for. "My cousin? Her mom is in the hospital, and I thought she needed some support, so I moved."

"You must be really close. I mean, to leave your life behind, your boyfriend." It wasn't technically a question, but the way Rebecca said it, like she was expecting real details, made Andy hesitate, made her consider her response a little more carefully.

"We're getting there," she finally said with a smile. "And sometimes you just don't have a choice."

"Why didn't he move with you?"

Andy took a deep breath and glanced over her shoulder at the kids playing quietly in the corner. It hadn't been her intention to bring Sam into the conversation, into any conversation, but that door had already been opened. Too late to shut it now. "It's complicated."

"So, explain it to me." The corner of Rebecca's mouth turned up. "I'm smart. I'll get it." It was the strangest thing, how at one moment she had her scrambling for answers and the next, Andy was feeling much like she did when she and Traci used to share a bottle of wine. Comfortable, almost familiar.

Andy tapped her nails against the glass, watching the wine ripple and splash against the side. "Well, he has his job, for one thing."

"What does he do? Couldn't he get a job here?"

"He could," Andy said, sidestepping the question about his choice of employment. "But the timing wasn't right."

"Is it not that serious?"

"No, it is." Andy flashed an ironic smile. "It's very serious. It's just…"

"Complicated?" Rebecca finished with a slightly mocking tone.

Andy shrugged. "Things just don't always work the way you want them to, I guess." She looked down as she felt something touch her leg. A short-haired orange tabby was twining around her ankles. She reached down and gave it a scratch behind the ears.

"You don't have to tell me," Rebecca muttered and Andy looked up in surprise at the change in tone. She glanced over at her girls playing in the corner. AJ was running around, hat discarded, blonde hair streaming behind her, a perfect copy of her mother. Maddie was sitting quietly in the corner, watching her sister with huge dark eyes, chestnut hair falling down to her shoulders. "Mike and I lasted maybe three months after AJ was born." She shrugged. "We were kids, so that whole situation wasn't very realistic. But Anthony…" She made a face. "That was a surprise. We got married when AJ was 5 and I was two months pregnant with Maddie, and by the time she was 1, he was out the door." She watched AJ's hair swing around as she laughed and played. "It took AJ almost six months stop asking when he was coming back." She swallowed the last of her wine and then glanced over at Andy, somberness disappearing as quickly as it came on.

"I wasn't kidding about the single guys in the neighborhood. In fact, there's this one just down the street. Riley. We actually went to high school together. He moved back to town with his fiancée a couple of years ago, but something happened, and she's been gone now for…oh, maybe a year and a half. Nice guy though; good job. That girl made a mistake."

Andy was shaking her head. "No. Sam and I are still together."

"Sam? That's his name?" Andy froze, eyes snapping to Rebecca's, realizing her error a beat too late. "What?" she laughed. "Is he some sort of secret agent or something?"

Andy pushed out an uncomfortable laugh. "No, I just… No. Anyway, we're still together."

Rebecca was watching her, eyes narrowed in curiosity. "Well, if you change your mind, let me know. I'll introduce you. I might introduce you anyway."

"Why don't _you_ date him?" Andy asked peevishly, still pissed at herself for the slip. She didn't know Rebecca very well, but she was pretty sure there was zero chance of her forgetting Sam's name. If Stone ever found out, she'd probably have her packed and moved in under twenty-four hours.

"I've got a little more to work around," Rebecca was saying, eyes again on her kids. "They get attached fast; I just need to be a little more careful these days." Then she looked back. "Maybe you should call Sam, tell him to get his ass out here. Tell him he has a little competition," she said with a challenging grin.

"He doesn't," Andy replied with a shrug. "And it's not that simple."

"I'm going to get it out of you, you realize." She said it very seriously, and for a second, Andy couldn't tell if she was joking. And then Rebecca flashed a set of white teeth at her and Andy relaxed. "I'm just extremely nosy. I can't help it." Rebecca grinned. "Plus, if I know more about it, maybe we can figure something out. Maybe something you haven't thought of."

Andy shook her head. "This is the way it has to be right now, so it's fine. I'm… I'm fine."

"You're lonely." Rebecca was staring at her, wide blue eyes unblinking and focused on her face, on the way she tucked her hair behind her ears. It was unsettling, and Andy physically recoiled from the scrutiny, hitting her wine glass with her elbow as she sat back in her chair. Rebecca's hand flew out, catching it before it tipped.

"You don't even _know_ me," Andy snapped. Across the room, AJ and Maddie looked up, concern and surprise spread over their faces. She winced and mumbled, "Sorry."

Rebecca was shaking her head. "No. _ I'm_ sorry. It's really none of my business." The girls started playing again. Andy and Rebecca sat there together, a sort of nervousness tainting the mood in the room. Rebecca was drumming her fingers against the table top, sort of looking like she was waiting for Andy to throw her a bone.

Finally Andy set her elbows on the table and propped her chin in her hands. "Sorry," she said quietly. "I'm just tired, I guess. I have trouble sleeping," Andy said suddenly, honestly, and Rebecca looked at her in surprise. "At first it was…the situation. You know, the noise and the move. And now the noise is gone, but... There's something else."

Rebecca had her eyes on her still, considering something. "When Anthony first left, I had trouble sleeping alone."

Andy hesitated and then shook her head. "Before I moved, he was gone a while, um…away on business. I slept alone for a couple months. I don't think it's that." But something deep inside her sort of _sighed_ a little, like her body didn't quite agree with that rationalization. She ran a hand through her hair trying to squelch that feeling. "Maybe the house is just too quiet. I don't know. It just doesn't feel right."

"Well, it takes time for a new place to feel like _yours_, you know?" Rebecca said and again, Andy got the distinct impression she was being felt out.

She nodded. "Yeah, I guess, maybe." She glanced up at Rebecca once more, and frowned at the weird smile suddenly spreading over her face. "What?"

"I have this idea. I mean, if it doesn't work out, no biggie. But it would probably take care of the loneliness and the quiet. And the empty bed," she said as an afterthought.

"What is it?" Andy asked skeptically. "I already told you I'm not dating."

Rebecca shook her head and tapped her nails against the table top and looked at her thoughtfully. "How do you feel about dogs?"

* * *

><p><strong>Ch. 9 Is in the works :) Prepare yourself for a little happiness. I know you're dying for it ;) <strong>


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: Sorry for the delay on this. I was having some mental problems :) (not to mention the site was DOWN ALL DAY - ahem) Long flashback for you this time. Also, since it's been so long, I'll remind everyone that the link to the character list is posted on my profile. Just in case.**

**Thanks in no particular order to rookieblue89, tikvarn, cocobean2206, icewitch73 who were all kind enough to read over/discuss sections of this. Also thanks to everyone for reading and/or reviewing. **

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><p><em>Sam glanced at Andy. She was curled up on the far end of his sofa, remote in hand, clicking mindlessly through the channels. She'd been uncharacteristically quiet since parade that morning, barely having anything substantial to say in the squad car, contributing only the absolute minimum to the stilted lunch conversation. And now they'd just finished dinner; or rather, he had. She'd just picked at her food until he finally just took the plate from her and brought it to the kitchen without a word.<em>

_He'd offered her the meager contents of his medicine cabinet, had offered to go get something for her, thinking maybe she was sick or something, but she'd declined, swearing she felt fine. And then, in an almost fearful move, he'd offered to bring her home. But she'd just given him a somewhat puzzled look and__ simply__ said, "We're at your place tonight."_

_On her fourth trip through the channels, he finally leaned over and snatched the remote from her hand, muted the TV, and sat back against the arm of the couch._

_"Andy," he said quietly, and her eyes moved to him, questioning. "What's wrong?"_

_She shook her head and turned back to the TV, though the sound was off. "Nothing. I'm just…thinking."_

_"About what?" She shrugged but said nothing. He was feeling impatient. They had less than a week left; not enough time to waste on moodiness and mixed feelings. "Hey," he said. When she looked at him, he gave her a slow smile. "Come think over here." Her lips curled until she was grinning sort of bashfully and then, as he shifted and laid down on the couch, she crawled over, letting him drag her the last foot or so until she was stretched out full length over him. When her body was stacked atop his, thighs and hipbones fitting familiarly, stomachs and chests pressed together, he smiled again. His hands moved up to cup the back of her head as she tucked her face against his neck._

_"Hey," he whispered, working his hands into her hair. "What's wrong?" he asked again._

_She groaned against his skin and flattened her hands on his chest, fingers moving over the waffle pattern of his shirt. "God, I'm trying to not be a total baby about this. __I've__been doing so good up until today."_

_"Trying to not be a baby about what?" he asked, head bent so his lips were down next to her ear. She shook her head again and he arched a little, tipping his head away so he could see her. "Andy, look at me."_

_She sucked in a wet-sounding breath and when he asked her again, she finally lifted her head, folding her arms across his chest to push herself up a little. Her eyes were a little shiny. Not quite crying, but it wasn't far off. His heart lurched a bit and he frowned. _

_"What's going on?"_

_She looked down, picked at the short placket of his shirt, fingering the tiny plastic buttons sewn into it. She was taking her time before she spoke, thinking over her words carefully, and he almost asked her again, just to snap her out of it, but she finally started talking, her voice quiet and kind of shy._

_"Traci and I were talking today," she began and then ran her lower lip through her teeth once before she continued. "She said that she and Jerry were thinking about heading down to New York City sometime over the summer and that we should think about going along. You know, sort of like a vacation, or whatever."_

_"That sounds alright. What's the problem?" _

_She glanced up at him, still rolling a button between her fingers. "Well, I was getting all excited about it, and then I realized that I didn't even know if you'd be back by then. By summer." Her eyes flicked to his briefly. "You know?" _

_"Oh," he said for lack of anything better to say. He gave her a short nod and then skimmed his fingers __back__ through her hair, letting it run through them like water. "But we've talked about this. A lot."_

_She nodded, keeping her eyes down. "I know, but before it was always kind of a ways off, like maybe if I ignored it, you'd never actually have to leave. But now, it's right in my face." She shifted against him. "I guess it just sort of hit me. It's weird knowing that by this time next week, you won't be here." _

_At first, he wasn't really sure what to say, and Andy seemed to sense his hesitation; she stiffened slightly on top of him, hipbones digging into his. And then, in a move that surprised him, she leaned in and settled her mouth over his, ending the discussion right there. Andy was sighing into him, nose stroking softly over his cheek and for a second, as her hands started bunching his shirt, pulling it up his chest, he forgot that they were in the middle of a serious conversation. But as her nails traced up his abdomen, skittering across the hard lines of his ribs, his eyes snapped open and he put his hands on her shoulders, pushing her away gently. He dragged his thumb along her jawbone as she looked down, avoiding his eyes; almost embarrassed._

_"Andy, you said it yourself. We're gonna be okay."_

_She let out a ragged breath and finally nodded. _

_"I know. I just... It wasn't supposed to be like this. I mean, I knew you were leaving and I wasn't expecting to..." She bit her lip. "I wasn't expecting a lot of things, I guess. Not so fast anyway." She shook her head. "It's still new. This." She tipped her hips against him, just a little, in a move that she probably hadn't intended to be overtly sexual, but was. "And everything else. Just lots of new feelings, you know?"_

_She took a deep breath as his hands moved and settled at her hips, thumbs slipping into her belt loops as he held her against him. _

_"Andy." Again, their eyes met. "These feelings? They aren't new. They've been here a long time." She smiled a little at that, possibly a little proud, and then looked away again._

_"I guess they have," she finally said. She pulled her hands out from under his shirt, away from the heat of his core and moved them up to his collar, stroking over the skin there, over the few dark hairs peeking out. "What if," she started and then, giving her head a small shake, she exhaled with an almost ashamed laugh. "What if I said that I didn't want you to go? That I wanted you to stay here. With me." His breath caught in his throat as he took in what she'd just said; as he realized how long he'd been waiting to hear her say that._

_When he didn't reply right away, she looked at him, chin tipped down, pointy against his breastbone. It took him a couple of seconds to find his voice. "What if I told you that I didn't want to go anymore?" he asked back._

_A slightly relieved smile passed over her face. "Actually, that kind of makes it a little better." But Sam wasn't smiling back. The thoughts that had been skirting the edges of his consciousness the past week or so were suddenly moving rapid-fire through his brain. Visions of Christmas and New Year's and spring and of them making plans and passing time were filling his head. As his hands tightened on her hips, she shifted, trying to find a more comfortable spot and then she whispered his name. _

_Instantly, his eyes shot back to hers. "What if I didn't have to go?"_

_Andy smirked unhappily. "Funny," she said in a dry tone._

_"I'm serious," he said, moving a hand to her face, tipping it up until she was looking at him hard, straight in the eye. "What if I talked to Boyd and just..." He shrugged as best he could with her pressing him down into the couch. "What if I just quit?" She wet her lips, blinked a few times and then her fingers were moving at his collarbone again._

"_You think he'd let you? I mean, he's not exactly reasonable." _

"_I'll work it out. Convince him."_

_She took a deep breath and gave him a smile that was touched with just a little excitement, a little disbelief. "So, you'd do that. Just give up the bust. For me?"_

_Right at that second, he was pretty sure he'd lie down in the middle of Yonge Street if she asked him to, but he just nodded. "Yeah, I would." His hands stroked the back of her fuzzy sweater, sliding underneath, working it up her back as his fingers made their way over the even ridges of her spine. For a second, she pushed into him, warm from shoulder to thigh, and then as the sweater rode up over her bra, she sat up, heel of her hand hard against his chest. He pushed out a quick breath._

_"What's wrong now?"_

_"You need to go talk to him."_

_"Right now?" To be perfectly honest, he probably shouldn't have been anywhere away from the privacy of his home, hair stuck up everywhere from rubbing against the couch, and other parts of him half-hard from rubbing against Andy. _

_But she was nodding, climbing off him even as he grabbed for her. She disappeared from the room for a second and he swung up from the couch, his whole front suddenly chilled. She returned and thrust his coat, shoes, and keys at him. _

_"Seriously, you need to do it tonight." _

_Two minutes later, she'd shoved him out the door and he was in his truck, figuring it would only take another five to convince Boyd to find someone else._

_Turned out, Boyd didn't see it that way._

* * *

><p><em>"I'm sorry, man," Sam said, holding up his hands, palms facing Boyd. "I just can't do it."<em>

_"You leave in six days," Boyd spat out. "You __**have**__ to. We don't have time to brief anyone else."_

_Sam shook his head, but he tried to keep his tone calm, civil. "Look, I know I'm putting you in a tough spot and I'm sorry. But I just can't."_

_Boyd was livid. He looked like he was seconds away from completely losing his mind. "At least tell me you have a good reason. A good 'life or death' kind of reason." Sam didn't say anything. "Swarek, the last time Bishop was here, he dropped over a million dollars worth of cocaine into this city. And that's what we know about. We can't just sit around and wait for him to come back again. After this, he's finished. This is our last chance."_

_Sam had his hands on his hips, mind racing over the facts, trying to find a way out of it. "How long are we talking here?" he asked. "I know we already went over it, but has anything changed?"_

_Boyd shook his head. "We still don't know the exact date. Could be two weeks, could be 6 months."_

_Sam tipped his head down, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. Then he opened his eyes and shook his head, still resolute. "I just can't be off the grid that long."_

_Boyd's eyes were wide, angry with disbelief. "You've done it before! Plenty of times."_

_"Yeah, well now there's someone who'll miss me if I'm gone that long," Sam countered loudly. _

_"Swarek," Boyd said, rolling his eyes. His voice was getting louder by the second, desperate. "We need you. It's that simple. Maybe if you'd said something a couple of weeks ago, we could have found somebody else, but it's too late." His hands were moving rapidly, gesturing wildly as he hovered around total combustion. "They're already looking for someone to fill the empty spot. We wait on this, they'll hire someone else and that'll be it. You'll be the guy who gave up the bust of a lifetime, and I'll be the guy who let you." He stalked back and forth in front of Sam, pushed both his hand through his hair and laced his fingers behind his head, agitated. Then he swung an arm out in Sam's direction. "You wanna work patrol forever? You blow this, I guarantee, you'll be working the street for the rest of your career. Forget a permanent move to Guns and Gangs, forget promotion of any kind."_

_Sam sat down heavily in the recliner. He knew Boyd was full of shit. Cops backed out of undercover assignments every now and again; it was hard on the operatives, hard on their families. It wouldn't be unheard of for him to drop out, even if he left mid-operation. For sure, he wouldn't be popular, but career-ruining? Probably not. _

_But he was right about one thing. If Bishop really was selling off all his properties, really was retiring, this __**was**__ their last chance to get him. He leaned his elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands over his face as he spoke reluctantly, heart breaking a little as he heard the words leave his own mouth._

_"If I do this, you need to put a cap on it."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"A time limit. I can't be gone six months."_

_"It's not that long."_

_Sam looked up quickly. "It's half a year!" he said sharply, mind running rapidly through the things he'd miss being gone for six months. Shaking his head, he stood up, and wandered restlessly over to the window. He stared out for a moment, and then turned around. "I'll give you two."_

_Boyd shook his head back at him. "Not long enough. Five."_

_"No. No way."_

_"Goddamn it, Swarek. Do you have any idea what would happen if you left in the middle of it all? The whole operation would be a waste."_

_Sam considered it again. "Three months." Boyd opened his mouth to yell, but Sam held up a hand. "If you want me that bad, it's three months. That's as high as I go." He stared at him, watching as Boyd's face tightened and he spun around angrily. "And this is the last time. After this," he said, shaking his head, when Boyd looked over. "After this, I'm out. I don't want to do this anymore." He shrugged. "I'm done."_

* * *

><p><em>When he walked back into his house, it was dark. He tossed his keys on the table as he tracked a little snow in through the kitchen and then stepped into the living room. Andy was on the sofa, curled into the cushions with her eyes closed and a blanket pulled over her as the television played quietly across the room. He moved over to it, got his hand on the button and switched it off<em>

_."So, when do you leave?" she asked, her voice still touched with sleep._

_He was frozen in place for a long moment, hand still on the television while he took a deep breath. And then he rotated, facing her as that hand went to his neck and gave it a self-conscious rub._

"_Same day," he said, his voice ringing with a weird hollow guilt. "But I talked him down to three months."_

_Andy flipped over onto her back with a tired groan, keeping her eyes on him. "Well, at least he didn't convince you to go early." He was pretty sure the tone in her voice wasn't intentional; sort of accusatory and disappointed at the same time. But it made him feel like shit._

"_Andy," he started, but she was shaking her head in the dim light, eyes still locked on him. And then she gave him a weak smile._

"_Take off your coat, Swarek. Stay a while." He forced a short strangled laugh out, but his fingers went to the zipper, opened the coat and tossed it to the floor. He toed his shoes off next, left them in a wet pile and walked over._

_She lifted the blanket and reached up, sliding her arm around his middle as he climbed in. Sam pressed her down deep into the couch and she tangled her legs with his, sock-covered foot skating up the back of his calf. He was up on his elbows, fingers tangled in her hair as she tipped her face up to his. _

"_Andy," he began again, but she shook her head, arching up until she got her mouth against his just once and then she pulled away. _

"_It's okay. It was a dumb idea."_

"_No, it wasn't." He shook his head. "I don't want to go, but this case…"_

"_It's big," she finished, nodding. _

"_One of the biggest." Of course, that was the thing that was killing him, the feeling like he was choosing the case over her. "I'm…" He took in a deep heavy breath through his nose and shook his head. "I'm sorry," he finally said, having nothing better to offer. Andy reached up and pulled his head down to hers, kissing him slowly, a soft touch of lips and tongue, even as he tried to pull away, as he tried to explain. _

_When she finally let him go, she was shaking her head as he opened his mouth. "Don't. It would've been crazy for you to give it up. A bust like this, it could make your career." She pulled him closer, breath whooshing out a little as he finally settled his full weight over her, mouth against her neck. He kissed the corner of her jaw as his hand came up and stroked over her cheek, through her hair. "Besides, if it were me, I'd go." _

_Sam lifted his head in one sharp motion, and she grinned at him. "What? You think you're the only one who cares about their job?" He wasn't really sure if she was telling the truth, or just saying it to make him feel better. But he gave her a small smile and bumped his nose against hers once before nudging her mouth open. After a minute or so, her legs were up around his waist, her heels against the backs of his thighs and her hands were fisting in his shirt, working it up his back. "And you know," she said, a little breathless as his teeth worked against her neck. "Three months doesn't seem that long. You'll be back by February. It's not that far away. We can do it. We can do three months." Her voice wasn't nearly as strong as it had been over the last two weeks; it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself instead of him._

_But he nodded, sitting up on his knees so she could drag the shirt over his head. She leaned up, lifted her arms, and a faint smile passed over his face as his fingers snagged in her hem, gliding the tiny T-shirt up and over. As his arm circled behind her back, laying her back down on the couch, he heard her speak and they both tried to ignore the catch in her voice. _

"_We'll just have to make the next week worth it."_

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><p><em>.<em>

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><p><strong>March 5 (Monday)<strong>

Sam's eyes were on Boyd as he paced back and forth in Best's office, looking very much like a caged animal. From Sam's position behind a desk on the squad room floor, he couldn't really tell what they were talking about, but every now and again, Boyd would stop, mid-stride, fling an arm out and open his mouth wide as he spoke. He didn't look like he was yelling exactly, but he wasn't happy. Frank was sitting calmly behind his desk, tapping a pen against the blotter as he waited for Boyd to finish his tantrum.

Sam was staring openly, feet propped up on the desk in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. Staring and waiting. Best had called him in early, wanted to talk to him before parade, but by the time he'd arrived, Boyd had already been inside. He glanced around at the room as he heard people from his shift start to filter in from the locker rooms. He saw Callaghan skirting the edges of the room as he made his way to his office, eyes shooting over to meet Sam's with a sort of deliberateness that left Sam feeling like business wasn't quite finished between them. But ultimately, Luke closeted himself in his office and Sam could return his focus to Boyd and Frank.

And then he heard the rookies come in behind him. He'd long ago stopped turning around when he heard them talking and laughing across the room, but it still disturbed his concentration, still made his heart jolt the slightest amount; the split second of hesitation as he waited to hear a certain absent voice. He had the same physical reaction when he walked down the hallway just off the side entrance where all the rookie's photos were posted. No one had taken Andy's picture down yet. He pretty much avoided that hallway when he could, but at times, it was unavoidable.

"Epstein!" Boyd was finally coming out of Frank's office, and Sam swiveled in his chair a little to watch Dov walk across the room, saw Boyd clap a hand on his shoulder as they met at the base of the stairs. And then, Boyd gave Sam one quick look, a sort of shrug with eyebrows jumping as he turned and the two of them left. As he watched them go, Sam felt a sudden strong urge to get up, to grab Epstein and give him a head's up; to let him know what he could be giving up by going back to Guns and Gangs. But he didn't move, didn't say a word as he was struck by a sudden memory of Andy walking out that doorway, mouth wide in laughter as she turned back to look at him.

Over the past few weeks, something had changed. Everything was just…less. The pain, and the anger, and the feeling like he had no control over what was going on inside himself. The memories were still coming full force; like Andy was almost haunting him. Like he couldn't escape her if he wanted to. Not that he did. As agonizing as those memories were, he held them close; the feeling of the bed dipping under her weight as she climbed in next to him, her sharp, bony heels digging into his thigh when she put her feet up at the breakfast table. But then again, there was a very fine line between remembering and pining.

And pining, just… It was embarrassing, and yet, once those thoughts appeared, they took over. Like the humiliation he felt every time he found himself smelling her shampoo straight out of the bottle; it was still sitting in his shower because he hadn't been able to throw it out. Or like the mortification that coursed through him as he remembered a certain noise she made, somewhere between a laugh and a purr, and he found himself needing to take a moment to…calm down. So, he'd made a decision. Pining was out. No more of that.

He took a deep breath and tipped his head back, closing his eyes. It was still very early in the morning, and he'd had to skip his second cup of coffee to get out the door on time.

"Swarek!" His head snapped up, his feet hit the floor, and his eyes locked onto Frank leaning over the railing on the second level. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder and walked back into his office as Sam stood and made his way up the stairs.

He walked in and sat down, braced his elbows against his knees as he looked at Frank.

"What's going on? Did something happen with the case?"

"Yes and no." Frank dropped the pen he'd been twisting between his fingers and sat back in his chair. "Look, we have a transfer coming in, starting today. You know the drill. Six weeks of field training to learn the area, a year of probation." Sam straightened up in his chair as he realized what was coming. "I'm pulling you off the roster for now. You'll be riding with Officer Green for six weeks, after which, we will reevaluate."

"Frank," Sam said narrowing his eyes. "I'm working on Andy's case." At the look Best shot him, he sat up a little straighter. "I mean the Bishop case."

"The case is cold, Swarek. We haven't had a decent tip in almost two months."

"Weston hit Malone six weeks ago."

"And there's been no trace of him since. No trace of any of them."

"What about Hill?"

Frank raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "Boyd just told me they had to pull surveillance on his place. They've been watching it for months and getting nothing. And every day they sit there, it costs money. Nobody wants to pay for it anymore."

Sam sprang up out of the chair and started moving around the room, one foot after the other, across the carpet. He was shaking his head. "We can't just stop looking for these guys."

"We're not. The D's are still on it. If something of value comes in, you'll hear about it. But for now, I want you concentrating on this."

Sam blew out a breath and leaned back against the window frame. "Why can't Shaw or Williams do it?"

"Because I want _you_ to do it." Frank stood up behind his desk and started shuffling papers around, piling them up. When Sam didn't move, he looked up at him. "You're doing this, Swarek. Better get used to the idea. You start today."

"No." Sam said it quickly, sharply. He started to explain, to lay out the reasons, the excuses about the case, about how someone else would be better suited, but Best was turning towards him, shaking his head. Finally, he raised his voice above Sam's.

"You're slipping, Swarek!" Sam stopped in his tracks, his mouth dropped open. "You may not realize it, but everyone around you does. And I'm trying to do you a favor. I'm trying to fix this before things get worse. Your paperwork is sloppy; you're giving up calls to units that are further away. You're withdrawn and distracted and your attitude is… Well, it's been better. I have it on good authority that you've had problems with a few of the rookies. And don't think I didn't notice when Callaghan came in with a split lip a few weeks ago."

Sam didn't say anything, just tucked his arms up and sank back against the window frame.

"I'm not trying to come down on you; I know it's been rough. But it's like your heart isn't in this anymore." Sam looked away, muscles in his jaw flexing. "Look, I'm not writing you up, but this stuff has to change." Frank said, quieter, as he turned back to his desk. "So, you're going to do this. After the six weeks, you'll fill out your normal evaluation, but I'll be assessing both of you. And this is it." He looked up and met Sam's eyes. "If I hear one negative thing about your attitude, or that you're not following orders, I'll write you up, no questions asked." He stuffed a pile of papers into a folder and tucked it under his arm. "Now get out. We're late for parade."

* * *

><p>By the time Sam walked into the parade room, nearly every chair was filled. The room was loud with conversation, and instead of sitting at a table, Sam took a place at the back of the room. He nodded to Shaw and Williams and stood against the wall.<p>

"How's it going today?" Noelle asked quietly as she lifted her paper coffee cup to her lips. Her eyes were on the rookies at the front of the room as they leaned across tables, joking and laughing with each other.

He shrugged as he leaned back. "Been better, I guess."

She glanced over, sized him up in a quick up and down movement of her eyes. Then she nodded. "Yeah, you've looked better."

"Thanks," he muttered. She glanced at him again, and for a second she held his eyes.

Frank and Noelle had been seeing each other for a while; since before Andy left, even before Sam had gone undercover. And they'd done a halfway decent job of keeping it under wraps, of not bringing it into the workplace. But there was a very specific sort of concern in her eyes that made it obvious that it didn't go the other way; that the workplace intruded on their private lives. She already knew about his new assignment.

Sam looked away, feeling a certain amount of irritation and shoved his hands into his pockets as Frank stepped up to the podium. He went through the usual stuff, bringing everyone up to speed on the plans for the day, on the cases that would need a little extra attention, and then, before giving his usual closing, his eyes bounced once to Sam, and then to someone sitting in the front row.

"I'd like you to welcome Officer Piper Green to 15 Division." Next to him, Noelle snorted at the name and Sam felt the corner of his mouth turn up. He tipped his head down to hide the smirk as Best continued. "She comes to us after five years at 34 and will be completing her FTO training with Officer Sam Swarek."

Sam had been bracing himself for this moment throughout the duration of parade and people's reactions didn't disappoint. Though he kept his chin tilted up obstinately, kept his eyes cool and dispassionate, he saw every head in the room swing toward him. He didn't move his gaze around though, kept it straight ahead as he folded his arms over his chest, doing his best to not waver in the slightest.

At the front of the room, Best cleared his throat and started speaking again, and one by one, the people turned back to the front of the room. All but two.

Nash was sitting about halfway up the room, giving him a look he hadn't seen from her in a very long time. Some sort of sympathy that ultimately culminated in a kind of half shrug and a tiny smile, like she knew he was upset about the change in assignment. He gave her what was less of a smile and more an acknowledgement of her understanding and then she turned around. Sam's eyes shifted to the person sitting in front of Nash, off to her left, and his expression hardened up again.

She was sitting at the front table in the seat nearest the window, sort of by herself; a smallish-looking woman. She had a shock of fiery red hair pulled back into a thick ponytail with the ends tucked under and her eyes were large and brown as they appraised him coolly. After a few seconds, she raised her eyebrows slightly, almost to herself; almost as if she were saying, _"This is the best they've got?"_ Dismissively, she turned away and faced the front for the rest of parade.

* * *

><p>Afterwards, people began filing out of the room, and Sam turned to leave, shuffling quietly along behind the others until he heard someone say his name.<p>

"Swarek?"

He turned at the unfamiliar voice and frowned.

"Green."

As she approached him, she stuck out her hand and waited for him to take it. Though a little surprised, he did, noting quickly that she barely came up past his nose and had winter-muted freckles splashed across her cheeks and along the backs of both forearms. She was probably a few years older than he'd first thought, pushing thirty at the minimum. She gave him a polite smile and an obligatory, "Nice to meet you," and then stepped back, settling her hands on her hips. He crossed his arms over his chest uncomfortably and glanced out the window at the people milling around the squad room. Everyone else had taken their places at the desks or was moving quickly down to the equipment room and to the exit.

He turned back to her as she spoke, her voice a step or two lower than he expected from someone her size.

"So, aren't we supposed to be doing something right now? You know, getting our gear, patrol, something?" She said it sarcastically, like she doubted he had any business being in charge of her training. Sam tipped his head back a bit and his eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to say something, to toss a little hostility back her way when Best stuck his head into the room.

"Everything okay in here?"

As he watched, Green turned to face Best and instantly, her face split in an incredibly genuine-looking smile.

"Everything's great."

"Swarek?"

Sam gave him a less-pleasant smile and nodded. "Just heading out."

"Glad to hear it." Frank smacked the door frame with his open hand and then walked out.

Sam raised his eyebrows and swung an arm towards the exit. "After you," he said with just a little bite.

They made a quick stop at the equipment room to pack up a duffel and then another stop to grab their coats and then exited the building and walked through the parking lot. He noted with equal parts amusement and annoyance that Green immediately stopped at the driver's side of the squad car. He shook his head and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Sorry."

"At 34, we traded off."

"Yeah, well, you're not _at_ 34 anymore." And that was the end of the conversation was far as he was concerned.

But not for her apparently. She waited until they were both in the car before she spoke again. "Is this some macho thing? The driving? Because it's not my first day. I've been doing it a while. I'm actually not bad."

Sam shook his head, pulling out into traffic. "Actually, it _is_ your first day, at least in this neighborhood. And I just like to drive." He flashed an obnoxious smile.

"So, maybe I can drive tomorrow." The way she said it sounded final, leaving no room for argument and abruptly, to prove a point, he jerked the wheel to the right and threw the car into park. Then he turned to face her.

"Look, I didn't ask for a new partner, okay? I'm here to babysit you, make sure you know your shit and the neighborhood before you're allowed out alone or with our rookies. I'm not here to be your buddy; you don't get to argue with me or negotiate. This is how it's going to be." He wasn't yelling, but was brusque, face serious and tight with annoyance.

He'd surprised her though, and when he turned back, pulled back out into traffic, she was still watching him with a semi-shocked expression on her face. It took a full three blocks before she looked away and he heard her say, "So, I guess we'll talk about it again tomorrow."

"Look, I'm not in the mood to take shit today," he muttered.

She gave him a sidelong glance. "Are you ever?"

He turned to look at her, humorless.

"Not really."

* * *

><p>They talked a little of course. She asked questions about the area, about the most crime-ridden neighborhoods, about the big players, and the high-traffic areas as far as drug sales and drunks went. The few calls they got were noise complaints, and a dispute between neighbors over some petty vandalism committed by one of their children. All in all, pretty basic stuff. For Green, it was a pretty easy day. Then again, she'd spent a large part of the day alone in the squad car.<p>

Up until learning of his reassignment, Sam's plans for the day had included making another go at his CI's; flashing the pictures of Bishop and his associates, trying to gather even a scrap of information. He'd made one trip around the area when he'd first returned from his time off, but it'd been weeks since he'd checked in with his guys. And despite Best's warnings, it couldn't be helped; there was no one else to do it. So, in between calls from dispatch, Sam sped all over the division, stopping on street corners, at a pool hall, even followed the last one down an alley, away from prying eyes. Each time, he dragged out the pictures, but each time, was told that no one had heard anything, that no one had seen any of them. And every time he returned to the car, the anger in Green's eyes burned a little brighter. She resented it; being left behind like a child. And he couldn't be sure, because he didn't actually know anything about her, but the silence coming from the other side of the car didn't seem like a natural thing for her. Her hands were tucked under her arms as she sat kicked back in the seat in frustration.

Sam checked his watch as they drove up Borden and turned left onto Harbord. He pulled the car over in front of The Boulevard Café and as he removed his seat belt, Green did the same.

"I'll only be a minute," he said, dismissively.

"That's what you said the last five times. I'm going with you."

His hand froze on the door handle and he turned to look at her. "Look, this is the last one, then we'll go back to the barn."

"No," she snapped and his eyebrows shot up. "I've had it with this. Either you tell me what we're doing here, or I tell Best."

He almost laughed in her face. But then he saw the stubborn set of her jaw, the way her brow arched. "Try it," he said, watching her carefully. "There's nothing to tell."

The corner of her mouth turned up. "Oh yeah? Why all the secrecy then?" He didn't say anything. "It's pretty obvious that _this_ -" she waved her hand at the building standing outside her window. "This is something you're not supposed to be doing."

He turned in his seat, arm up on the wheel and stared at her incredulously. "You're gonna _tattle_ on me?"

"Hey, I'm here to do a job. You're supposed to be training me, and I'm not some rookie who's going to let you walk all over me. So, give it up, or," she shrugged. "Get ready to explain yourself to the staff sergeant."

For a long moment, he just glared at her, muscle working overtime in his jaw. And then, realizing she wasn't budging, he sat back again, both hands up on the wheel, thumbs tapping against it. He licked his lips as he thought about it for a moment. Green was looking at him expectantly, arms folded over her chest.

"You know who Malcolm Bishop is?" he asked finally, figuring simple would be best.

"Sure. His picture was up on the board at 34 for a month. And all over the news." She frowned. "Wait, _you're_ on that?"

He blinked at her. "Thanks for the surprise. It's really flattering."

"Yeah, well..." She shrugged again. "I heard there was some big task force. But you don't exactly seem like you play well with others, you know?"

"Ever think it's just you?" Sam asked snidely. She just narrowed her eyes. "Anyway, I was working undercover with Bishop's crew. When he left town, I got called back in. Been working this side of it ever since." Again, his thumb tapped against the wheel. "At least until today." He looked at her pointedly.

"So, what? Now you're working it alone?"

Sam shrugged. "I guess."

"And this is all because you were undercover with them?"

He looked at her, eyebrow quirked. "What're you asking?"

"Nothing really," Green said as she raised her eyebrows and drummed her fingers along the door. "It just seems a little…" She shrugged.

"What?" he ground out, growing more impatient by the second.

"Personal," she said sharply, looking at him quickly, knowingly.

They stared at each other for a long moment, challenge ringing in the air between them. Finally, maybe realizing she wasn't getting any more out of him, she looked away, shaking her head in frustration.

"Look," he said, rubbing a hand over his neck, suddenly feeling very tired. "I spent a lot of time on this thing. I just want to make sure it gets closed."

She snorted. "That's it? A dogged pursuit of justice?"

Exasperated, he tipped his head back against the head rest. "Yeah. Whatever. Look, are you gonna narc me out for wanting to finish this?" he asked, his voice rising in volume with each word.

She did what amounted to a full-body shrug: arms, shoulders, mouth. And then she shook her head. "Nothing better coming over the radio anyway." Sam rolled his eyes. "But I'm coming in this time."

* * *

><p>They stepped into the empty, sunlit restaurant, and automatically, Sam found himself scanning the room. The walls were part exposed brick, part painted creamy-yellow, hung with brightly colored prints and canvases, some framed, some unframed. The tables and simple slatted-back chairs were crammed close together from the entrance to the kitchen. Towards the back was a separate section, cut off from the rest containing a small bar, a computer, and a window looking back into the kitchen. Off to the right, there were bathrooms, and a short hallway leading out to the patio. In the summer, there were tables stacked next to each other, running up and down the brick patio under the awning. However in March, the door was closed and locked, waiting for the temperature to break.<p>

As they continued to stand near the entrance, a tall, heavy-set man in a white shirt, black pants and an apron walked through the swinging kitchen door. He gave Sam a quick look and strode over.

"Ruben, hey man." Sam grinned a little as he reached out to shake the larger man's hand. "How's it going?"

"Not too bad. Let's go back here." He led the way to a table near the back corner of the restaurant, near the cash register. Ruben glanced at the clock on the wall. "We've got another half hour before we open for dinner. You guys want anything to eat? Coffee?"

Sam gave him a tired nod as he slid into a chair, keeping the yellow wall at his back. Ruben wandered around the counter and grabbed three cups from a rack on the bar and a pot of coffee from the warmer. He flipped them over on the table and filled two of them and then glanced over at Green and raised his eyebrows.

She was still standing a good couple of feet from the edge of the table, checking out the room, eyes moving over the décor, bouncing up onto her toes as she tried to see through the window into the kitchen. Next to Ruben, she was completely dwarfed, maybe coming up to his chin, and standing half as wide. Ruben was wondering if she wanted coffee. Sam was wondering if he could get her to leave the room for a minute.

"Green," Sam said. She looked at him. "Take a walk."

She snorted and put her hands on her hips, thumbs hooked into her gear belt. "Yeah, that's happening," she said and rocked a little on her heels as she looked over towards the counter. Her eyes followed the dishwasher as he brought out a rack of glasses and then returned to the kitchen.

A headache had been riding just behind Sam's eyes for the better part of an hour and he squeezed his eyes shut briefly, fingers rubbing at the center of his forehead as he considered the fight it would take to get her to go back outside. But the conversation with Best ran through his head and he finally opened his eyes and waved her over, squinting against the sunlight pouring into the room.

"Fine. Sit down." He used his foot to nudge out a chair and, giving him an unimpressed look, she grabbed it and dragged it out further, sitting down on the edge. "Ruben?" Sam said, lifting his head to look at him.

Ruben flipped over the third cup and though Green made a noise in her throat like she was about to protest, the cup was filled. Sam used the back of his hand to slide it across the table to her, leaving the basket of cream and sugar at the edge, just out of her reach. But she didn't even look at it, just picked up the cup and took a sip of it, unaltered.

When Ruben pulled out the chair next to Green, he angled it a little so he could see into the kitchen, and then he sat. Sam reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a half-sized manila envelope and tapped the edge against the glossy table top as the larger man took an unhurried sip from his cup.

"We've got twenty-five minutes left," Ruben said glancing at the clock. "And I still have a few things to do, so let's get to it."

Sam arched his brows. "We won't be here long. And you still owe me, so lose the attitude."

Ruben sat back and hands on his knees and nodded. "Yeah, sorry. Already a long day, you know?"

Sam nodded with a smirk and a glance toward Green. "Kind of do." He opened the envelope and tilted it, emptying the contents onto the table. He slid the pile across to Ruben who lined them up and gave them a quick once over.

"I already saw these. Last time."

"Yeah, well, look at 'em again."

Ruben rolled his eyes but leaned over, giving each photo another good stare. As he finished with each, he slid it back towards Sam. Bishop, Allen, Weston, Chris Malone. One after the other. "I don't know what to tell you, Swarek. I haven't seen 'em."

Sam shifted a little in his seat, leaning forward, eyebrows up at Ruben. "Can you ask around?"

But Ruben was shaking his head. "I'm outta the life, man. You know that."

"Ruben, bro." Ruben's eyes lifted to his. "I know you still know people. I know you still talk to people." He glanced over at Green once, found her staring at him intently, a crease formed between her brows as she observed him. He looked away again and his voice dropped a touch. "Look, man. I'm getting desperate. Just, here, take 'em. I've got another set." He shoved the pictures back into the envelope and held it out. Ruben grabbed it automatically. "Show 'em around, call me if you hear anything." He heard a quiet screech as Green slid her chair back from the table and stood, and his eyes shot to hers, questioning.

She turned around with an unconcerned "Be right back," and walked towards the restrooms.

Sam turned back to Ruben. "Please."

Ruben tapped the envelope against the table top and then nodded. "We're square after this? Whether I find anything or not?"

Sam hesitated for a second, but nodded. "Yeah. The only time you'll see me is if I get hungry for Peruvian. Alright?"

Ruben nodded again. "Sounds good. Give me a week or two; maybe three." He glanced over towards the women's bathroom. "Hey, whatever happened to that other partner of yours?" Sam looked at him, expressionless. "You know, cute brunette?"

Sam had forgotten that Ruben had met Andy. The first time was, very briefly, through the car window when they'd dropped off Emily; the first day they'd worked together. After that, Sam had gone back maybe three or four times looking for leads, for information on various cases, bringing her with each time.

Sam shrugged and gave him a weak smile. "Moved on to something else." They continued to make small talk for a few more minutes until Green walked through the door and into the dining area, clearly ready to leave. "Well, I guess I'll see you. Thanks again." He grinned again at Ruben as he stood, giving his hand another quick shake as he walked past him. He heard Green come up behind him and as he approached the door, she stepped in front of him and held out her hand. He threw her a confused look.

"What?"

"Gimme the keys."

He snorted. "Yeah, right. I didn't get a lobotomy while you were powdering your nose." Between her and Stone, he was pretty sure he'd reached his yearly quota for tiny women who thought they could boss him around. He started to walk past her, but again she stepped into his path.

"I was making some calls. Trying to help you out." She snapped her fingers and his eyebrows shot up. "Have you shown your pictures to the people on my side of town?" She rolled her eyes at his unamused expression. "Look just give 'em here, or I won't take you to see my guys."

"You have guys?" he said it slow, like he didn't believe a single syllable.

"Well, they don't know about each other." His expression didn't change. "That was a joke, Swarek. Lighten up." Still he hesitated. "Come on. If you're going to break the rules, you might as well make it worth it, right?" His eyes held hers in a hard stare for a few long seconds and then she waved her hand a little and reluctantly, he finally dropped the keys into it.

As they walked out to the cruiser, Sam glanced up the street and said, "This better not be a waste of time."

"I don't know why I have to keep telling you this. I might be new at 15, but this isn't my first day. Believe it or not, I was actually pretty good at my job over at 34."

"Then why'd you leave?" he muttered, letting himself into the passenger side. It didn't escape his attention that she didn't answer the question.

What she _did_ do was move the seat, sliding it up a good couple of inches so her feet could reach the pedals, and then she put on her belt and adjusted the mirrors. Finally she pulled the car out into traffic. When they finally reached the highway, Sam sat back in the seat, knees spread, hands rubbing sort of nervously against his legs.

"Relax," she said with a grin. "I got my license almost five years ago." He shot her a disapproving look and she smirked. "Not in the mood for kidding today, either? Fine." She increased her speed, weaving in and out of lanes. He gripped his shoulder belt and gave it a jerk, just to make sure. "You know," she said, sliding her sunglasses up her nose. "You wouldn't be the first person to crack under the pressure of an undercover op."

"Excuse me?" he said, brows drawn together in irritation.

She gave him a very brief once over. "You don't look good." She shrugged. "Of course, I guess I don't know what you looked like before. Maybe you always look like you've been run over by a truck." She reached into her breast pocket and pulled out a flat packet of gum. She took out a piece and held the box out to him.

Sam shot her a dirty look, ignoring the offer. "I didn't crack under the pressure." But as she shrugged and put it back into her pocket, he reached up and flipped down the visor, opening the mirror. She wasn't totally right. He could maybe use a haircut, just a trim. Perhaps, the circles under his eyes were a little extreme, as were the lines carved into his face. And apparently he'd missed a spot while he was shaving that morning. Rolling his eyes, he snapped the visor back up.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until the third stop that they caught a break. Green pulled the cruiser up between the pumps at a Tru Value Gas station in Scarborough, and when they entered, she headed directly for the register. The kid at the counter was obviously someone she'd dealt with on multiple occasions. He was under twenty-five, had close-cropped black hair and nervous eyes. Though he gave Sam a suspicious look, he seemed genuinely pleased to see Green, flirting through half-hearted complaints about her hassling him.<p>

She humored him for all of thirty-seconds, asking him about his little sister, about the classes he was taking, and then got down to business. When he looked at the pictures, he passed right by the ones of Bishop, Allen and Weston, and then paused over the one of Chris Malone. The adrenaline that coursed through Sam was potent as he listened to the kid. He thought he'd been in a couple times over the last week; the last time he'd picked up a couple of bags of chips, a carton of smokes, and half a dozen scratch-offs. But he hadn't seen him since before the weekend, and had no idea where he'd been coming from.

While it wasn't much, it was still miles ahead of where they'd been even an hour before. There hadn't been a lead in weeks, but now they knew that Chris Malone was not only alive, he was also back in town. Which meant that it was time to do another sweep of his friends' houses, of his usual haunts. A wanted man didn't return to town and ignore everyone and everything from his past. If everything fell into place, it would only be a matter of time before they closed in on him.

Sam actually felt a smile starting at the corners of his mouth as he pulled the truck up in front of Tommy's building and unbuckled his belt. He reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed up the file and the sack of burgers he'd picked up on the way. One last time, he checked his phone. There had been a few missed calls from Andy's dad during the day; once while they'd been in with Ruben and another when he and Green had been on across town. At the time, he'd been too busy to answer, hadn't had time or the privacy to return the calls until after they'd gone back to the station and talked to Jerry. But Tommy hadn't picked up then, and he hadn't picked up a half hour later while Sam was running through the drive-through at McDonalds.

He climbed out of the truck, feet finding purchase quickly on the slick curb. Winter had been pretty light, but every now and again, a light snow would fall, melt during the day, then freeze as the night grew cold. A light coating o crusted the sidewalks, and as he walked up to the building, he noted narrow wheel marks tracking through the white. It was a detail Sam absorbed and then dismissed. His mind was on his dinner, and on the file tucked up under his arm. If he and Tommy could come up with a few more ideas, a few more places they could look for Malone, they might get lucky.

He was feeling lighter, almost optimistic for the first time in longer than he could remember as he pounded up the stairs and knocked hard on the door. He waited half a minute, but didn't hear any movement inside; no creaking floor, no running water, nothing. Feeling a touch of apprehension, Sam put his hand on the knob. It turned easily and he swung the door open and stepped inside.

In the couple of seconds it took for his brain to process what his eyes were seeing, the bag of food and the case file slid from his hands and fell to the floor. Papers fanned out against the bare wood and over Sam's feet as he stared.

There was no furniture. The kitchen cupboards were standing open, completely cleaned out. His head turned slowly to each side, doing a quick mental inventory. Ugly lamp, chair, coffee table, television… all missing. Over his left shoulder, the bedroom had also been cleared. The apartment was empty.

Tommy McNally was gone.

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>March 6 (Wednesday)<strong>

Jimmy Weston leaned his elbow out the driver's side window and tugged the brim of his cap down over his sunglasses as he watched Sasha Rieger exit the three-story brick building. He checked his watch. Nearly four in the afternoon. He'd been keeping an eye on the apartment off and on over the last few weeks, trying to catch a glimpse of Chris Malone if he happened to return. It was just one of several places he'd been watching. Allen had given him a short list of places the brothers used to frequent, but considering his newfound notoriety and the fact that there was now one less brother, he'd needed to be a little more careful and had been coming up empty-handed. Every now and again he'd run into someone who might have seen Malone, or knew someone who'd seen him, but Weston was tired of getting jerked around. And he figured the guy had to come home sometime.

So, he'd come up with a new plan. Actually two plans.

As he watched, Rieger started up the ancient gray hatchback and it lurched into motion, pitching again when she shifted gears and hurried down the street on her way to work. She'd left the same time every day since he'd started watching. She was a reliable employee, which was what he'd been counting on. It wouldn't be good for either of them if she recognized him walking through the hallway of her building.

He got out of the car, crossed the street and headed up the block a bit. Then he jogged quickly up the half a dozen steps and yanked open the door. It wasn't a terrible part of town, but the building wasn't high-end enough to warrant any sort of security system or buzz-in panel. It took him less than a minute to take the stairs up to Rieger's floor and as he paused outside her door, #14, he smiled; a cruel twist of lips and teeth as he remembered the last time he'd been there, the look on her face as she realized he was leaving her handcuffed to the wall.

But Weston stepped past her door, and turned the other direction, stopping in front of #15. He pulled the hat off, stuffed it into the pocket of his navy coat and pulled out the McNally girl's badge. He'd kept it after they'd dumped Warren's body and the rest of the stuff, figuring he'd probably use it sometime. Using his fist, he banged on the door, held the badge in his hand, ready to flash it. Considering the slew of his recent crimes, he figured impersonating a cop wouldn't even rate. And depending on the occupants, it might gain him some useful information. He heard some muffled dialogue coming from behind the door, heard a quick hard thud as someone hit it from the other side, and there was an obvious pause as someone peeked through the peephole.

He just stared into the small black hole, never blinking. Eventually, the door was pulled open a few inches and the thick cloying smell of marijuana floated out of the apartment and filled the hall. Furtively, Weston stuffed the badge back into his pocket and instantly shifted to plan B. Then he smiled; the most genuine normal smile he could muster.

The guy looking out through the crack was small, thin to the point of being gaunt, and pale under his wife-beater and dirty jeans. He both looked and smelled like he hadn't seen the inside of a shower in a week. When Weston reached out and braced a forearm on the door, and gave it a good shove, the guy put up almost no resistance, stumbling back a little as it swung open and hit the wall loudly. Behind him, on the couch, an equally thin, pale woman was lying on the couch, knees bent, cigarette dangling from her fingers as she glanced up over the arm to the disturbance in the doorway.

The apartment was dismal, full of trash and personal effects, strewn every which way. The kitchen sink was stacked high with dirty dishes, most crusted with petrified food. Scattered on the coffee table among the old beer cans, fast food bags, and plastic silverware were a few empty packs of cigarettes, a couple of lighters, an open bag of pot, a belt, and various other suspicious items. Weston stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind him, making a mental note to wash his hands, first chance he got.

The skinny guy was backing away, strangely compliant, moving to sit next to his girlfriend on the couch and Weston made a slow circle of the apartment, peeking into the bedroom, into the bathroom, making sure they were alone.

Then he stepped up in front of the television and nodded at them, dispensing with any sort of formalities.

"Do you know your neighbors?" he asked gruffly, hooking a thumb over his shoulder, towards the hallway. "The ones in 14?" They shook their heads, and again, he smiled. "Two big guys; brothers? They live with a tall blonde girl?"

"Those boys don't live here no more," the woman said voice cracking a little.

He raised his eyebrows and nodded. "One of them doesn't, for sure. The other one though…" He glanced down again at the coffee table and then back at the woman. She had track marks running up the insides of both elbows, and her boyfriend wasn't faring any better. He reached into his coat, pulled out a picture he'd printed from the newspaper website that morning and handed it to them. "Chris Malone, he owes my boss a lot of money," he said, the lie rolling off his tongue easily. "It'd be really helpful if you could give me a call if you see him. We need to collect." He reached down and picked a pen up off the floor, scribbled the number to his disposable cell onto a candy wrapper.

The skinny guy's tongue flicked out over his dry lips, and he looked like he was processing everything, very slowly, but the woman looked up at him.

"The cops were here this morning looking for him. Why should we call you instead of them?"

The mention of the police didn't even give him pause. There was no way in hell they'd ever call the cops, not from this apartment.

But it wouldn't hurt to sweeten the deal. The corner of Weston's mouth curled up and he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his wallet. "I'll give you a little cash now," he said, pulling out a $100 bill. "And I'll give you another hundred if you call and Malone's home when I get here."

For the first time, she looked like she might have a bit of life in her and her eyes glittered as she snatched the money and the phone number out of his hand.

"What happens if we call, but he leaves before you get here?"

Weston smirked. Wouldn't surprise him at all if they called him just to get his money; whether Malone came home or not. He reached into his coat again, this time pulling out his gun. He pointed it at her casually, like it was no big deal at all and when she and her boyfriend snapped up on the couch, sitting erect for the first time during the exchange, his grin widened.

"You call me, and he's not here…" He shrugged. "I shoot you." He moved the gun back and forth between the two of them. He knew they could just take the money and toss the phone number, but with these two the choice between self-preservation and the knowledge of what another $100 could buy them was pretty equal. In the end, he was pretty sure the addiction would win out.

"So, do we have a deal?"

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>March 8 (Thursday)<strong>

"So, what's wrong with you?" Andy asked as she put her chin down on her hands. She was lying on her stomach on the floor, legs bent at the knee, as she stared into a set of large brown eyes that blinked solemnly at her. She'd had the German shepherd cross for nearly two weeks. At first, he'd been fine, had been energetic and active, but in recent days, he'd become increasingly slothful. Just a half hour ago, he'd met her at the door after work, dancing around excitedly until she crouched down to greet him. And then after they'd taken a few minutes outside, had come in and curled up in his bed in the corner and just stared at her. So, she was staring back. They'd now been watching each other for the better part of five minutes.

As she watched, the dog raised his head from his paws and lurched forward, tongue moving quick across her cheek before she could move her face out of range.

"Gross," she muttered, pushing herself up, wiping her forearm across her cheekbone. The dog sat back on his haunches, front paws sliding a little on the wooden floor underneath him. As she unconsciously mimicked him, sinking down onto her knees, hands on the floor, the dog, Brody, stretched out, long body half in, half out of the bed, paws straight in front. He tipped his head a little to the side Andy frowned at him, thinking she'd just feel a lot better if he'd jump up and run around a little.

She'd never owned a dog before, had never even owned a live plant before; but she was pretty sure of the general rules. Food, water, bathroom. She'd been keeping the bowls full, had been taking him out whenever he even _looked_ like he might need to go, but she had a general feeling of unease. He was just far too…calm. He had to be sick or something. He may have gotten into something while she'd been at work; but aside from one messy incident with the garbage can (which had actually been more her fault than his), the house had been remarkably free of mess when she'd returned on her lunch breaks and at the end of each day.

Maybe he was depressed. Maybe despite all the horror stories, he'd actually enjoyed his time at the pound; had enjoyed the interaction with the other dogs. Maybe he was lonely. She frowned and reached out, scratching behind his ears, smiling a little when he pushed against her hand. Again, the tongue came out and swept over the skin of her arm. And then he sank down, his head fell back down onto his paws and he stared up at her.

Or maybe she just knew nothing about dogs. At all. But there were people who did.

"Alright," she said with a loud exhale. Andy pushed herself up off the floor and as she walked out of the living room and into the dining room, Brody got up from his bed and followed her, nails clicking softly against the floor behind her. She sat down on one of the three stools she'd picked up the Saturday before at a church garage sale and then gave Brody a faint smile as he sat back and put his paws up on her thigh. While running her hand over a sinewy forearm, she picked up her cellphone.

She only had four numbers in her contact list. Stone, McBride, Rebecca, and the Willow Bend Community Bank. She hit speed dial three. Rebecca answered on the second ring.

For a moment, Andy heard nothing but loud Hendrix blaring in her ear, but after a few seconds, the music was silenced and Rebecca came on the line.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's Abby." She gave Rebecca a couple of seconds to babble in her ear, about the length of her workday, about leaving to pick up her kids, and then she interrupted her.

"Listen, I need the name of your vet. I think I'm killing this dog." Rebecca laughed in her ear and Andy heard a car door slam, heard an engine start up. "Who do you take your cat to?"

There was a long pause on Rebecca's end, and then Andy heard her voice again, low and thoughtful. "There's a vet clinic maybe a dozen blocks away. Over on Hickory. Big blue sign."

"Are they good?"

"Yeah, they're great. And they're open until six. Just ask to see Dr. Hayes. He's usually the one we see. And, hey, you're still coming over for dinner tonight, right?" Andy rolled her eyes. Of course she was. In the last couple of weeks, she'd eaten more meals across the street than in her own house; Rebecca pestered her until she relented. Although, lately, it was becoming easier to give in; the frozen pizzas and cold cereal stocked in her kitchen had lost their appeal long ago. And truthfully, she was enjoying the company. Especially since Stone had dropped her visits down to once a week. Never did she expect to miss those.

Rebecca had taken some getting used to; in fact Andy was _still_ getting used to her. But her brightly colored house was comfortable and warm; her daughters were adorable. And every now and again, Andy was able to forget that this whole thing was really a lie. Of course, the questions hadn't stopped; though the shock of her inquisitiveness was decidedly less. Rebecca seemed to view Andy as a curiosity, a puzzle she was determined to solve. But after the first slip, Andy had been better about keeping her story straight; about keeping her past out of it.

In answer to Rebecca's question, Andy made a noise of agreement, then pushed Brody down and stood up. She sandwiched the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she collected her purse and the leash and quickly moved through the house, trailed by the dog the whole way as she checked locks, then moved through the kitchen towards the garage. Rebecca was still babbling and Andy was half-listening as she clipped the leash onto the Brody's collar and set the alarm.

The two of them hustled out of the house, she locked it up behind them, and then Brody led her down the cement steps and over to the Escort which looked tiny in the empty two-stall garage.

"Rebecca," Andy interrupted. She kept talking. "Hey! I gotta go. I need to run over to the vet. I'll come over when I get done." She clicked the phone off without waiting for a response and then looked at Brody. "She will just talk forever, won't she?" She opened the door and let him climb in, watching the seat sink under his weight. Still young, and a little smaller than a purebred, Brody still weighed a generous sixty pounds, and when stretched out along the backseat, took up the entire thing. If he filled out anymore, it might be an excuse to trade in the miserably small compact for something bigger. Maybe something to look forward to.

* * *

><p>Ten minutes later, Andy and Brody were pulling into a tiny parking lot on a very quiet street. There were only a couple of cars parked under a line of trees, and she pulled in next to a large red Suburban. The lot was clear but wet; what small amount of snow they'd gotten in recent weeks was well into melting. If the temperature dropped, the roads could be covered in a slick coating of ice. But for the moment, all she had to do was avoid the puddles.<p>

Andy got out and held the door open, keeping the leash wrapped around her hand as Brody jumped out and they walked towards the building. She pushed through the glass door into the empty waiting room and they moved to the receptionist's counter. Five minutes later, they were in an exam room, and Andy was still filling out paperwork.

She was about finished by the time the vet walked in. And she might have blinked. Just once, and then the moment passed and she did her very best to ignore the fact that the guy was long and lean and much younger than she'd expected.

He gave her a brief, friendly smile and bent down, giving the dog a quick rub.

"You must be Abby?" At her nod, he stayed in his crouch, but stretched out a hand towards her. She gave it a quick shake.

"Dr. Hayes?" she asked, just to make sure. He flashed her another easy grin.

"Yep. And this must be Brody." He turned back to the dog and used both hands to ruffle the fur around his ears. "What's the problem today?"

"Well, I got him from the humane society two weeks ago. But he seems…tired all the time. He doesn't really run around like dogs usually do."

"Sluggish?" he asked, eyebrows bouncing up once as his hands moved quickly down Brody's legs, checking joints, feet, nails. He looked briefly in his eyes, ears, lifted his lip to check out his teeth and gums.

"Yeah, sort of."

"He's had all his shots?" He looked up and Andy nodded. "What are you feeding him?"

"I just bought the same stuff they had at the pound." She watched as he took out his stethoscope and briefly listened to his heart.

"Are you exercising him?"

Andy pushed her hands through her hair nervously. "Well, I take him out during my lunch break and when I get home from work, and walk him around a little bit."

"How many minutes a day?"

"Total? Maybe twenty?"

He smiled briefly, did something that made Brody stand on all fours. He moved to the back legs, looked at his belly, checked lymph nodes, and then gave his butt a quick pat. Brody sat instantly, and Dr. Hayes stood up.

"He looks really healthy. He's been taken care of. What did they tell you when you got him?"

Andy shrugged. "He wasn't there very long. The lady said that he belonged to a family and they had to move and couldn't keep him anymore. What?"

He looked like he was holding back a smile, but he shook his head and snagged a pad of paper off the counter and started writing. "Actually, I was talking more about the breed. Here's the thing," he said. "These dogs require a lot of attention, a lot of stimulation. They're working dogs. They like a lot of activity." He ripped the top sheet of paper off the pad and handed it to her. Andy took it and glanced down. "They also need a regular feeding schedule. Those are a few brands that make food for larger active dogs, but the exercise is probably more important at this point. So, spend a little more time with him, run around outside, teach him some tricks. If you don't see a change in a few weeks, come back."

"What kind of tricks?"

The vet shrugged. "Let's see what he knows."

He turned around and grabbed a bag of dog treats out of the cupboard. As soon as he opened the zip-closure, Brody was standing, watching him with interest. Dr. Hayes held up the treat, moving slowly, swinging his hand in a small arc. Brody's eyes followed him; his body was tense, unmoving.

With a flick of his wrist, the treat went sailing into the air and Brody leapt up a little, snatching it in his mouth. Andy's eyebrows were up again and the vet was grinning. Dr. Hayes kept his eyes on Brody and snapped his fingers. Brody moved instantly to his side. "This dog already has some basic training. Sit," he commanded in a firm voice, and Brody sat. "Up." He snapped his fingers again, and Brody pushed himself up onto his hind legs for a few seconds and then down again. The vet bent down and gave him a good scratch. "Shepherds are notoriously easy to train and they bond with their owners pretty quickly. He'll listen to you. So pick up a book, get some instructions off the internet, take a couple of classes. Really, you'd be surprised what he'll pick up."

He looked at Andy again. "Want to try?"

It turned out that Brody actually knew more than a few basic commands. By the time Andy left, she had Brody heeling, sitting, standing, speaking, shaking hands, and "finding the ball". On her way out, she'd been handed a few flyers for obedience classes, though Brody seemed to be pretty damn obedient already, and some for more advanced training.

.

Those were the ones Andy was scanning an hour or so later as she leaned back against the arm of Rebecca's sofa, legs stretched out in front of her. In the kitchen, Rebecca was cooking, dancing around to an 80's mix CD while her girls twirled around in the living room. AJ was singing along to a song written twenty years before her birth as she and Maddie played with Brody. He was sitting patiently in the middle of the room as they did their best to annoy him; trying to put a straw hat on his head, looping their arms around him.

"Hey, AJ," Andy said, reaching into her purse. She'd stopped at the pet store on the way home and picked up a few things. When AJ looked up, Andy tossed her a hard rubber ball. "Not too high though, okay?"

No further instruction was needed and soon enough, the ball was hurled across the carpet and Brody was chasing after it, hind legs scrabbling a little as he slowed to a stop and snatched it up. He brought it back at a run and they did it again. Andy glanced toward the kitchen as the song changed.

Normally, Rebecca just whipped up something quick; something kid-friendly. Spaghetti, or burgers, or a casserole she'd had in the fridge. Tonight, she was fixing mac 'n cheese for the girls and had steaks out for the broiler. She'd cracked open a bottle of red as soon as Andy walked in the door, had pressed a glass into her hand and told her to go sit and relax while she took care of everything. Though she'd been suspicious, Andy had complied.

She still didn't know Rebecca well enough to know all her quirks, but she knew enough about human behavior from her short life as a cop to know when something was up. And Rebecca was…twitchy. The phone rang in the kitchen, and as Brody's ears perked up, Andy sat up a little straighter, trying to hear what she was saying. But she hung up after only a few seconds, and Andy heard her slap the steaks on the broiler pan, and a minute later, heard the oven door open.

In the next couple of minutes, a few things happened. First, Brody stopped playing and went on high alert. She'd seen him do this a few times. Once, right after Andy got him, when Stone had come through the door after just a quick knock. Another time, in the middle of the night when a raccoon or something had wandered through the yard, he'd paced agitatedly in front of the sliding glass door for ten minutes.

This time, he started circling the living room, and then, he went straight to the front door, and stood there tense, a very low growl prickling in his throat. Andy stood and walked over, and as she moved nearer, Brody started to crowd her, moving in between her and the door, pushing back against her legs. And then, on the other side, someone knocked.

Rebecca brushed past them both and put her hand on the door jerking it open as Andy's fingers curled tightly around Brody's collar. But it was unnecessary. As soon as Brody saw who was standing on the other side, his hackles went down. The growl turned into a whine as he pulled forward in excitement, tongue lolling out as Andy released him and Dr. Hayes, the vet, stepped through the door.

They looked at each other in confusion for a second and then, they both looked at Rebecca who gave them both a wide, engaging smile.

"So, you two already know each other. Awkward introductions avoided." She went back to the kitchen and Andy turned her head, watching her as she left the room, and then swung back when Dr. Hayes cleared his throat. His eyes were on the kitchen as well, in fact, he looked like he was about to go after Rebecca, but he didn't have a chance.

"Riley!" Andy didn't even have time to react before AJ raced across the room, braids slapping against her back as she leapt up at him. He caught her easily, like it was a normal thing for them and pressed a few noisy kisses to her cheeks. She giggled loudly and then his eyes met Andy's.

She looked back at him and out of a brand new habit, her hand went down to her side, reaching for Brody, but Brody was pushing at the vet, nose around his ankles.

"Ah, sorry." He gave her a quick smile as he shifted AJ on his hip. "Try the snapping thing."

Andy swallowed thickly, suddenly unbelievably uncomfortable, and snapped her fingers. Instantly, Brody backed off and turned in a circle, coming to sit at her feet. When she looked up, the vet was sliding AJ down to the ground, crouching in front of her, telling her to go play with her sister. Then, he straightened to his full height and looked down at Andy with a polite smile.

"So, ah… Doctor…" she said, giving him a sheepish look.

"Riley," he corrected quickly, sticking his hand out. For the second time that day, she shook it, this time letting herself acknowledge the smiling gray eyes and wavy brown hair that probably lightened nicely in the sun. He raised his eyebrows, and she realized she hadn't replied.

"Abby," she replied stupidly, and then winced. He already knew her name. But he nodded and smiled again and then pulled his hand back. "Wait a second. _ Riley_?" she repeated, narrowing her eyes as she flashed back to one of her first conversations with Rebecca. "You guys went to high school together?" He gave her a quick nod. "And you live on this street?"

"Yeah, at the other end of the block. Gray house on the corner." He paused for a second and narrowed his eyes. "She didn't tell you she invited both of us, did she?" Andy shook her head. He nodded and gave her an irritated smile. "Me either."

Andy shook her head, still not quite believing she'd been suckered into this. She turned to go confront Rebecca, but Riley said, "Excuse me for a second," and was walking past her towards the kitchen with a sort of determined expression on his face. Andy trailed him.

By the time she got back there, Rebecca was at the sink, soaking pans while Riley leaned against the counter, arms crossed angrily in front of him.

"I thought we decided after the last disaster that you weren't going to do this anymore," he said. Then as he saw Andy enter the room, he shrugged. "No offense."

"Whatever." Andy looked at Rebecca. "I'm going home."

"Why?" Rebecca asked innocently as she snapped the faucet off.

"Well, because this is exactly what I told you_ not_ to do," she said, a frown creasing her forehead, tone a little hot.

"Wait." Rebecca turned around and wiped her hands on a dishtowel. "Don't leave." She looked at Riley. "And this is not a set-up, okay? Abby's new in town. She doesn't know anybody. I was just trying to help her out. Introduce her to some people."

"Yeah, right." The words flew out of both their mouths, with an equal amount of derision. A little unnerved, their eyes bounced up, gazes held for a second, and then dropped away again.

Rebecca raised an eyebrow at Riley. "Wouldn't hurt you to meet some new people either." He gave her one last irritated look and then pushed himself up from the counter and strode out of the room. Andy heard him speak to AJ and heard her giggle loudly in response.

Rebecca went over to the stove and glanced inside, then grabbed the pot holder and dragged out the heavy broiler pan. As she took a plate down, started stacking the steaks on it, she glanced over to Andy.

"If you've got something to say, just spit it out."

Andy just looked at her. "Swear to me again that you're not trying to hook us up."

"Abby…"

"Because I already have a boyfriend. Which you know. So it would be, I don't know… _ Disrespectful_?" she said, eyes wide and accusing.

Rebecca had the good grace to look a little ashamed, just for an instant, but then the moment was over. "Look, I'm not trying to do anything except help you both make a new friend." Andy didn't believe her for a second. "Hey, leave if you want to, but what have you got at home that's better than this?" She held up the steaks and as Andy's stomach growled, she just shook her head and looked away, knowing full well that her refrigerator held only the remains of a week old pizza, a few cups of yogurt and a shelf-full of condiments. Rebecca stared at her for a couple more seconds and then nodded. "Thought so. Let's eat. You can yell at me later."

It wasn't the most uncomfortable dinner Andy had ever sat through, but it was easily in her top five; maybe even top three. Conversation was stilted at first, but after a while, Rebecca and Riley were talking easily about work and family. Every now and again, she tried to draw Andy into conversation, but Andy wasn't biting. She gave short, ambiguous answers, giving up very few personal details while she cut up small bites. She was only marginally grateful that Riley barely glanced at her the whole time, instead giving his attention to Rebecca and her daughters. The few times he did manage to look in her direction, it was with polite disinterest, nothing more. She did him the same courtesy; she was cool, leaving no room for misinterpretation of her feelings on the situation. All in all, it was sort of a shared awkwardness.

Finally, the kids finished up and headed back over to the living room to watch a movie while the adults continued to sit there. Andy was on her third glass of wine. Somehow that was going down a lot better than solid food at the moment.

"Not hungry?"

Andy's eyes shot up from her half-full plate to Riley. It was the first time he'd spoken directly to her since they'd sat down. "Guess not."

He shrugged and sat back in his chair, fingers running over the base of his glass, looking at Rebecca as he replied. "Can't say I blame you."

"You two are a couple of drama queens," Rebecca said as she stacked plates. "You're both friends with me –"

"For the moment," Riley said with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes. "You're both my friends, so you would have met eventually. It's really not as big a deal as you're making it out to be."

"Really?" Riley looked at her with his eyebrows up and then turned to Andy. "Did she tell you she's tried this a few times?"

Andy gave him a tight smile and shook her head slowly. "She didn't tell me anything about you."

"Nice, Bec." He turned his chair a little so he was facing Andy and propped an ankle up across his knee. "The last one, she found in the checkout line at the supermarket."

"Hey, she wasn't that bad," Rebecca said with a laugh in her voice.

He tipped his head up, looking at her as she walked behind him. "Her hair was four different colors and she was pierced pretty much everywhere a person could be pierced."

"How would you know?" Rebecca asked with a grin, moving around the table towards Andy. She felt the corner of her mouth turn up at Riley's suddenly uncomfortable expression and brought the glass up to hide it, then looked up questioningly at Rebecca.

"Are you done?" She held out her hand for her plate and Andy turned back to the table.

"Oh, uh, yeah. I guess." She passed the plate to her.

As Rebecca walked through to the kitchen, she spoke over her shoulder. "You know, Abby, you should have Riley cook for you sometime. He's amazing."

Unable to help it, her eyes tracked back to Riley who took a beat too long to mask his irritation. But, he smiled at her politely. "I'm not that good."

"No, he is," Rebecca said as she blew back into the dining room and sat down again, this time on the other end of the table next to Andy. "Really, he makes this linguine that will literally leave you in tears." She took a healthy swig of wine and then looked over at Riley. "Abby only eats things that come wrapped in cardboard or foil. You should invite her over sometime. Convert her."

Andy looked between them for a second. Outside of her own discomfort, there was a sort of weird tension in the air. Rebecca was smiling in that way she did when she wanted something, when she wasn't planning on giving up anytime soon, but Riley had his arm stretched out along the table, was tapping his forefinger against it, shaking his head almost imperceptibly as he looked down at it. Then finally, he raised his head and looked over at Andy.

"Sure. Why not? What are you doing this weekend?" he asked, sounding like there was absolutely nothing he'd rather do less than entertain her for another night.

Andy shook her head. "Sorry. Not interested."

Riley bobbed his eyebrows again and gave her an almost grateful smile. "No problem. See?" He looked at Rebecca.

"Abby…" Rebecca began but again Andy shook her head and cut her off.

"No! I already told you that I'm seeing someone. Give it up. It's just rude."

Next to her, Riley pushed out a disbelieving laugh. "You're trying to fix me up with someone who's already taken? Scraping the bottom of the barrel?"

"Hey!" Andy protested loudly.

His features relaxed into an apologetic look and he held his hands up in front of him. "Sorry. But you know what I mean."

Andy shook her head and picked up her glass again. "At least she didn't try to hook you up with someone who castrates animals for a living," she muttered into it.

On her right, Rebecca snorted behind her hand. Andy glanced over to her left and saw Riley looking at her with the first real smile he'd worn since he walked in the door.

She sat back and folded her arms as she shrugged. "Sorry."

He shook his head. "You've got a point." But then, after a few long seconds, he shrugged. "Look, why don't you _both_ come over." He pointed at Rebecca. "No dates or set-ups, or any of that. Just food."

But Rebecca shook her head. "I've got to take AJ to her dad's. So it'll have to be just the two of you."

Andy shook her head. "No way." She glanced over at Riley. "I don't exactly make a habit of hanging out in strange men's houses."

"And I am one of the strangest," he said, completely deadpan. It took her a second too long to realize he was kidding.

Rebecca leaned forward, long blonde hair falling over her shoulder. "Take Brody. He'll protect you."

"Oh yeah," Andy said, glancing down. "He's ferocious." Or he might be if he didn't have his head resting comfortably atop Riley's thigh, eyes squeezed shut as his ears were scratched. She glanced up at Rebecca. "It's all three of us or not at all. Get out your calendar. Pick another day." Andy grabbed for the bottle to top off her glass and then looked at her neighbor one more time. "And I'm not done being mad at you."

* * *

><p>Andy didn't stay too long after that. Once she finished that glass of wine, she gathered up her bag, her coat and clipped Brody's leash back on and found herself crossing the street as she wind whipped her hair around. She had a tiny buzz from all the wine she'd put away over the past couple of hours, and it helped to warm her as she walked. The temperature had dropped significantly as the hours passed and the street grew dark. She murmured softly to the dog as they both did a slow trot across the icy asphalt. And then, she heard a voice call her name, the sound carried on the wind so it was barely a whisper by the time it reached her. But she turned as she stepped up onto the curb and saw Riley jogging quickly after her, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. He hadn't taken the time to grab his coat, and she could see him already shivering underneath his sweatshirt.<p>

He stopped a few feet in front of her and rubbed his hands over his arms, tucking them against his ribs to keep them warm.

"Look, I just wanted to apologize again. I was…."

"Kind of a jerk?" Andy finished.

"I was going to go with 'surprised'," he finished with a laugh. "But, I guess 'jerk' works too. You weren't exactly friendly either though." He looked down at the dog who was whining a little, and then back up at Andy. "She's not very subtle, is she?"

"I don't think she's ever even heard the word."

He gave a short laugh and glanced down the street as a car turned onto it, lights flashing over them. "No, probably not. Anyway, no hard feelings, right?"

Andy snorted. "Please. You're nothing special."

His eyebrows show up. "Now who's a jerk?"

She winced a little. "Sorry."

He gave a quick grin and nodded. "Anyway, if you get tired of eating TV dinners and canned soup, I live in that house down there." He pointed, and Andy followed his finger, seeing a dark gray bungalow just peeking around the corner. "Stop by if you want. No ulterior motive, no strings attached to this offer. And I swear I'm not a serial killer, but you can bring Brody."

"I think he's more likely to defend you than me at this point, but I'll keep it in mind," Andy said. And then she took a step back and licked her lips. "Look, I really _am_ seeing someone."

He smirked and shook his head. "Hey, all that in there? That wasn't an act. I'm not even remotely interested. And I don't generally date women with boyfriends. So, don't worry."

Andy looked away, still feeling more than a little uncomfortable. He was nice, in fact, he was being far nicer than she'd expected, given how snide they'd both been after dinner. But really, she'd eat peanut butter sandwiches for a month before she took him up on that offer. She took another step back. "You know, it's cold, so I think I'm going to…" She tipped her head towards her house.

He nodded and started backing away. "Yeah, no problem. Have a good night."

She looked after him for one long second as he turned and walked quickly back across the street. And then she turned and let Brody lead her through the garage and into the house.

* * *

><p><strong>March 9 (Friday)<strong>

The next day, Andy found herself hitting the gas a little hard as she careened around a corner on her way home from work. The smell of melted cheese, pepperoni, and pineapple coming from the passenger seat was torture; making her stomach growl loudly as she turned onto Juniper Drive. The day had been exhausting, which she hadn't exactly thought was possible. Considering she used to work ten-hour shifts, rotating between days and nights, a regular 8-5 dayshift shouldn't wear her out like it did. But she supposed it took getting used to, just like anything else. After a few weeks, of getting up to an alarm, of getting into bed a little earlier, things would probably even out.

As per bank policy, new employees spent the first week of their training reading through all the policies, procedures and banking regulations. Then they were required to sit down and complete several computer-based orientation programs before starting on two weeks of job shadowing, which was where Andy was now. She'd just completed her first week of watching other people work; trying to keep the computer work straight in her head while taking note of various sales tactics and customer service techniques. The tellers seemed to know a fair percentage of their customers and chatted easily with them. It was explained to Andy that after a short while, she'd start to recognize faces and names, start getting to know people. And with that knowledge came the same sinking feeling she got whenever she thought about an extended future in this town. It colored her whole day.

During her lunch break, she'd received a call from Stone, letting her know she'd waiting at the house when Andy got off work. She'd also requested that Andy pick up a few pizzas on the way home; too much for just the two of them. But Andy knew better than to argue. By the time she had the food in the car and was cruising down the road, all she wanted to do was get through whatever Stone had to throw at her, fall into bed and stay there for the next two days.

_Or maybe not_, she thought as she came around the last curve and saw the truck backed up in her driveway. She parked on the street and as she exited the vehicle, arms full of pizza, the wind whipped her hair into her face. She made her way across to the garage, noticing that people were entering and exiting the back of the truck at a fairly rapid pace. One by one they walked by, hands full. Unexpected tears pricked her eyes as she recognized her dresser, her television, her wood and leather chairs. Stone was standing on the other side of the truck, wearing her heavy wool coat, talking to a large man dressed in khaki from head to toe. Noticing Andy standing there staring, her face split into a huge smile.

"I told you I had a surprise." She made her way over, but Andy was frozen in place, watching as box after box, piece after piece came out. There were a few she recognized but couldn't place; however, they were carried in as well. Jill came up and took the pizzas from her and grabbed her elbow, towing her along through the open garage door.

"Actually, this is only part of your surprise. How was work?"

"Fine. I guess," Andy said, head turned over her shoulder, still watching. "What is this?"

Jill was wearing a pretty proud look on her face, and as she wrenched open the storm door leading to the kitchen, she tilted her head. "Come and see."

Andy followed her in, kicked off her shoes, left the door open and unlocked for the movers coming in behind them, and then moved through the house. The dog wasn't there to greet her like normal. Generally, he heard the car on the road, in the garage, and was standing in the kitchen, nearly dying of excitement by the time she turned her key in the lock. But not today. She followed Stone in through the dining room and turned towards the living room.

As she stared in disbelief, her purse fell heavily to the floor, her jaw dropped open and her eyes started stinging as Tommy McNally looked up from his seat on the couch. His hand stilled on Brody's head and the dog turned to look at Andy, leaping up from the floor to dance around her as she started moving.

"Dad!" He stood and caught her up hard in his arms, holding onto her tight. He kissed the side of her head a few times, telling her he'd missed her, that she looked good, and then after a few moments, as Brody pushed his nose at her, they broke apart. Automatically, Andy's hand fell to his head, giving it a gentle pat as she stared at her dad. He grabbed her hand and pulled her down next to him on the couch.

She looked down. Her white sofa with the crazy circle-patterned throw pillows from her apartment in Toronto; already covered in dog hair of course. And the wooden oval coffee table had taken the place of the cheap one she'd been using. If she hadn't already been in tears, the sight of the furniture alone might have done it. She sucked in a heavy wet breath and looked at him.

"How are you even here?" she asked with a laugh that sounded like a sob.

He smiled at her, rubbed a hand over her shoulder and glanced towards the kitchen where Stone was opening the pizza boxes on top of Andy's old square, metal-edged table, armless wooden chairs slid in around it.

"Jill. She had McBride pick me up a few days ago. Pulled all your stuff from storage, loaded up everything I had, which wasn't much," he laughed. "And here I am."

"I almost can't believe it," Andy said quietly, still sniffling a little. Brody's head was on her leg, leaving a distinct wet spot on the fabric of her pants, but she just scratched him a little, smiling when he licked her hand. She looked at Stone and felt a smile start at the corner of her mouth. "And I can't believe you kept it a secret."

Stone lifted a slice of pizza onto a napkin and walked into the room. "Wasn't easy. And it took forever. I was hoping to get him out here a few weeks ago, but some idiot in processing forgot to sign a form. I had to re-file all the travel paperwork before I could get the okay." She took a large bite and shrugged as she chewed and swallowed. "But he's here now. I'll let you two have a few days and then I'll take him back to Vancouver, get everything put into motion. He can stay here, or we can find him his own place. But no rush on that."

She wiped a smear of sauce from the corner of her mouth and then she smiled at Andy. "You should go look at your room." Frowning, Andy stood and started walking down towards the small bedroom but paused when Stone stepped in front of her. "Your other room," she corrected. For a long moment, Andy just stared at her, and then did a 180 and walked down the other hallway, passing the bathroom, and gave the door to the big bedroom a shove.

Her heart jumped into her throat. It wasn't an earth-shattering thing, but her bed, her old one with the off-white padded headboard was all put together. Two movers were just settling the mattress down onto it, giving her friendly smiles as they did it. She tried her best to reciprocate, but it was hard. Her eyes were moving around the room, taking in the night stands, the wavy white lamp poking out of a box, the decorative screen folded up and leaned against a wall. There was another box labeled "Bedding" that sat on the window seat as well as another half dozen unlabeled, stacked against the wall. As she heard Stone's voice in the hallway, she spun around and quickly, without thinking about it, threw her arms around her.

Jill laughed, giving her a gentle pat on the back as she shifted uncomfortably and finally pulled away.

"Hey, it's okay. This is what we do. It's really not a big deal."

Andy used the heels of her hands to wipe at her cheeks and a laugh bubbled through the overwhelming mess of emotion. After everything, all the sleepless nights and the difficult lonely days, there was a very strange feeling of a few things finally falling into place. She looked up and shook her head. "No. It's a very big deal."

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><p>The movers devoured the pizzas and then left. Jill stayed another ten minutes, and then gathered her belongings. She'd return on Monday for Tommy, and they'd take care of his paperwork, his identification and financial matters. There was also talk of setting him up with a local AA meeting and with a counselor. Andy had gone once, a couple weeks after the move, but had conveniently forgotten about it since. However, as it was mentioned, Stone's eyes flicked over to Andy, an eyebrow was lifted and Andy felt properly chastised. She promised herself that she'd set up another appointment the following week.<p>

Finally late in the evening, Andy and Tommy were left alone in the living room. The television had been set up, the Blu-ray plugged in, and for the first time, there was real noise in the house. Andy had simply reached into the box left near the TV stand and plucked out the first disc her fingers touched. She sat in the corner of the sofa under a blanket, Brody curled up next to her with his head in her lap, and her dad was kicked back in his old recliner.

She looked over at him, at the way his eye lids were dipping, though he was struggling to stay awake. She was tempted to let him fall asleep, even though she knew he'd be uncomfortable in the chair. Tommy had taken a plane out of Toronto days before, had been shuttled between cities and hotel rooms, much the same way she had. The travel alone was enough to knock a person down for a solid ten hours. But there was a nagging in her head, a need to ask the questions that had been burning inside her for months.

She very slowly ran her finger around the piping wrapped around the end of the arm of the sofa and then, making a decision, she reached out and touched the back of her dad's hand. He jumped a bit, startled out of his doze, and then sat up a little as he looked at her.

"Andy. What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. I was just…" She licked her lips and pressed them together for a moment while she steeled herself a little. "I was wondering if you saw Sam when I was gone."

He looked at her for a few seconds and then nodded. "Yeah. Sure. He came over just about every week."

She smiled and tipped her head down as a relieved breath flew from her lips. "Did he, uh…" She looked at him, squinting a little, trying to keep it together. "How is he?"

Tommy gave her an amused look. "Swarek's a popular guy today."

"What do you mean?"

"Jill asked about him too."

"Why?" The word shot out of her mouth quickly, her face contorted into a confused frown. Stone had softened considerably over the past few months, but her stance on Sam had never changed. Had never wavered. It hadn't occurred to Andy that she would even wonder about him, let alone actually ask.

He looked at her reproachfully. "Because she cares, Andy."

"Could've fooled me," Andy mumbled under her breath. She was back to picking at the trim on the sofa. "What did you tell her?"

Tommy stretched his legs out on the footrest, flexed his feet at the ankles as he shifted and then he reached down, flipped the lever and set his feet on the floor. He leaned forward and looked over at her. "The last time I saw him he seemed okay. Better than he was." He rubbed one hand over the other and then spoke a little more softly. "He's not happy about it, but I think he's starting to accept it."

Andy wasn't quite sure how she felt about that. On one hand, she didn't like the thought of him in the same state she'd been in those first two months, but on the other? There was a small part of her that was maybe a little upset that he was coming to terms with it. Accepting that they were separated. That there were 3000 kilometers between them and he was even the tiniest bit okay with it. Though really, she had no right. While she wasn't exactly excelling, she was definitely making changes, reluctantly moving forward, an inch at a time.

She inhaled deeply through her nose, listening to Brody snore on her lap. "Does he, I mean…" Another breath. "Did he ever talk about me?"

Tommy looked away and dipped his head a little as he ran a hand over the back of his neck. "Ah, honey. You know Sammy. He keeps all that stuff to himself."

She sniffed a little, blinking furiously as she felt the sting of tears start. "Does he at least miss me?"

Tommy didn't say anything until she looked at him, until she physically tipped her chin up to meet his eyes. And then he nodded. "He misses you very much." She smiled then, or tried rather. It was sort of a struggle between a smile and the compulsion to burst into tears and she looked away as she bit her lip hard. "He's not giving up," Tommy added. "He's still working the case. Well, we were kind of looking at it together…" He kept talking, and Andy tried to keep her mind on his words, tried to keep herself in the conversation. But she couldn't.

There had been very little doubt in her mind that he'd missed her, but somehow, hearing the confirmation made a world of difference. Made it easier and harder all at the same time. It gave her an immense feeling of relief, and also started a hard sharp ache in her chest that refused to ebb, no matter how many breaths she took. She wanted to hear more, surely, but right at this moment, she literally wasn't sure her heart could take it.

Her dad was still talking, just small bits of conversation about his trip, about leaving Toronto, and then, after a few minutes, he pushed himself to his feet.

"I think I'm going to go to bed, honey." She nodded and stretched up to kiss his cheek when he leaned down. "I'm really happy to see you."

She gave him a tired smile and nodded. "I'm happy to see you too, Dad. I'm really glad you're here."

He ran his hand over her head affectionately and then left the room. She reached over and switched off the lights, letting the television bathe the room in a bright, harsh, ever-changing glow. Then she gave Brody a shove, pushing him down to the end of the couch so she could lie down. He curled up behind her knees, still taking up a good third of the sofa and exhaled loudly, thoroughly exhausted from the day's activities.

She smiled, gave him a weak laugh as she reached down to scratch his ears.

"I know how you feel."

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><p>.<p> 


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N: Long chapter, so I'll keep the note short. (and if you get a hundred alerts for this chapter, I apologize - having problems posting)**

**First of all, if the food in this chapter sounds good, please visit www . sowritten . com /?p=212 for the recipe. It's delicious :)**

**Second of all, many many people had to suffer my neuroses to make the completion of this chapter possible. In no particular order: rookiebluefan89, tikvarn85, cocobean2206, SoWritten, icewitch73 just to name a few. Also, special thanks to Hawley from TWC for help in previous chaps. **

* * *

><p>"<em>Son of a bitch!" Andy held her target up alongside Sam's and shook her head slowly in frustration. Hers was covered in holes, spread randomly around the middle, but Sam's shots were densely packed in the middle of the head and chest. She swore again, her voice echoing throughout the empty firing range.<em>

_He laughed. "I told you. You're not gonna beat me. I was number one in my rookie class, and I guess…" he paused for dramatic effect. "I guess I'm number one in your rookie class too." She gave him a shove and then crumpled up the target and tossed it over her shoulder in the direction of the garbage. It fell alongside three others. She ran a finger around the collar of her shirt, flipped the top button open. She should have changed into civvies before agreeing to this. Oh well. Too late now._

"_We're going again." _

_Sam checked his watch. "Andy, we've been off shift an hour already, we haven't even cleaned up yet, and I'm starving."_

"_Again." _

_Sam inhaled deeply through his nose and then gave a nod. "Fine. Let's load 'em up." He went back to his stall and Andy hung a new target, then reloaded her weapon._

_They emptied their clips into the targets, and when they were finished, she hit the button with her fist and dropped down the pass-through, tossing her safety glasses on it. She pulled the earmuffs off one ear and blew out an exasperated breath._

_Andy shook her head as the paper flew up. "Fuck," she muttered, tearing it down. Each time, she seemed to get worse, if that was possible._

"_Here." She jumped, startled as Sam spoke from behind her and when she turned, he was holding his target up to the divider. She rolled her eyes and held hers up for half a second to compare before dropping it on the floor. Sam raised his eyebrows. "You're a__horrible__loser."_

_She made a face. "I can't help it. I like to win. I'm gonna do it one more time." Sam opened his mouth to protest again and she held up a hand to stop him. "We can clean 'em at my place, okay?"_

_Sam put up his hands. "Fine. Last one though, right?" _

_She inhaled deeply and then nodded with a defeated smile. "Yeah. We can leave after this." _

"_Okay, I'm gonna wash up quick." He walked away and as Andy loaded up the last target, she heard Sam's muffled voice as he spoke to the safety officer, and then the sound of the water running as he washed the powder residue from his hands. She refilled the magazine and loaded it into her gun. Then, she poked her ear plugs back in and dropped her earmuffs into place, rolling her shoulders. Just a little stiff. _

_She'd just raised her gun when she felt a strong arm wrap around her middle. _

_She instantly lowered the weapon, and glanced over her shoulder at him, then pushed the earmuffs forward a little._

"_What're you doing?"_

_He laughed low and quiet and then he reached down and grabbed her wrist, straightening her arm along the length of his. "I'm showing you something." _

"_Sure you are," she mumbled, but let him manipulate the limb. _

_His palm moved back until it rested against her shoulder. "The rotator cuff stabilizes your shoulder." He rubbed at it with his fingers, massaging it, moving up until his thumb was dug deep into the muscle near her neck. She stiffened her legs when she felt her knees buckle the tiniest amount. "It's also important in grip strength, trigger pull strength. Your shoulders are…fine, obviously," he said quietly, dropping a kiss onto one. Andy could hear the smile in his voice and she sank her teeth into her lower lip as she started to see where this lesson was headed. _

_Once her arm was straight, he moved his hand down her side over her hip to her thigh, dragged it back a little to better support her weight. "Arm up," he reminded her and she lifted it a bit. He slowly moved his hand along the muscle, under her arm; the light touch making her squirm against him, but his hand circled her wrist, holding it straighter._

"_I know how to shoot, you know," she argued with a grin._

"_Yeah, I've seen it," he joked with a short laugh. "Show me how you breathe."_

"_What?" She twisted to look at him, undoing all the positioning he'd just put her through._

_He rolled his eyes and moved her back, foot braced behind her, hip thrust back against his. "Put your gun up, like you're going to shoot and show me how you breathe." Again, her supporting hand came up and she breathed normally. _

"_Now show me a shot."_

"_This is stupid."_

"_Do it anyway." He replaced her ear muffs and she fired once. He squinted a little as he looked down-range, checking the result. "A little high. Blowing a hole in his neck might not be the best thing."_

"_If he's coming at me, does it really matter where I hit him?" she asked glibly._

_He smirked. "Kind of. Try this.' He stepped up behind her again and ran his hand up under her vest. He flattened his palm against her stomach and held it there. "Breathe for me," he said quietly. So she breathed, trying to ignore the way her heart was suddenly jack-hammering at feel of his lips in her hair and the slight pressure of the tips of his fingers as they drummed lightly against her midsection. _

"_Okay, put up the weapon. Now, before you take the first shot, take a breath." He pressed his hand more firmly against her abs, and she felt him warm and strong against the full expanse of her back. "Take a breath, and then blow out half of it and fire. Exhale after." When she hesitated, he put his face down next to hers. "C'mon. Do it."_

"_Okay." She took a deep breath, feeling it catch a little in her chest as his hand moved against her stomach, fingers sliding down, tips tucked between her shirt and waistband. She closed her eyes briefly against the heat that suddenly flooded her and then opened them. She straightened her arm again, took another breath, exhaled part of it and squeezed the trigger._

"_Better," Sam said, leaning over her shoulder to look at the target. "That's a heart shot." _

_For a second, she just stood there, feeling his fingers flex against her and then, testing a theory, she pressed her shoulders against his chest, head falling back until it hit his shoulder. She felt his laugh vibrating through his chest as he tipped his head down and ran his mouth over her neck. His hands moved up, over her vest to the Velcro fastenings at her side and shoulders. He ripped them open quickly and let the whole thing fall to the floor._

_Fumbling a little, Andy clicked on the safety and set her gun on the pass-through, letting him drag the earmuffs from her head. She reached up, pinched out the earplugs, then snatched off her safety glasses and tossed them down on top of her vest. Then his arms were around her again, his chest hard against her back as his hands flattened and slid into the gaps of her shirt, between the buttons. They clutched at the cotton of her undershirt, stroking over the hard lines of her ribs hidden beneath the fabric. She made a soft noise of encouragement as he nuzzled at the hair at the nape of her neck and her eyes fell shut as his hands slid around under her shirt. And then, as the ridiculousness of the situation hit her, the smile spread wide across her face and she laughed a little. _

"_This seriously turns you on?" she asked, unable to help the giggle that bubbled out with the words. "Girls with guns?" _

"_Just you," he said against her skin as he stepped up even closer, pulling her hips back, tight against his, letting her feel just how worked up he was. _

_Her eyebrows nearly met her hairline. "God," she said quietly, mouth gone dry._

"_Like this is doing nothing for you," he said quietly in her ear._

_She let out another shaky breath and pressed her butt back against him. "I didn't say that."_

_And when his hand moved under her uniform and cupped her breast, she let her head fall back again, against his shoulder and his mouth worked familiarly below her ear. She leaned back into him, laughing lightly at the scrape of his teeth against her skin. But when he pulled his hands out of her shirt and ran them down, yanking both shirts up and out of her waistband, and she stiffened, grabbing his wrists._

"_Hey, the guy is like right there," she hissed, craning her neck, trying to look around the wall. But he held her in place._

"_Who? The safety officer?" he hummed against her shoulder. "I paid him twenty bucks to take an early break." Again, his hands tugged at her shirts and she twisted away._

"_What about the cameras?" She backed up until she hit the divider holding up a hand when he advanced a step._

"_They're down for the day." Sam's grin widened. "C'mon, McNally. Where's your sense of adventure?"_

_She rolled her eyes. "You're like sixteen, you know that?"_

_He chuckled and rubbed his hand over his jaw. "Hey, you're the one that said we should make this last week worth it."_

"_This wasn't what I meant, and you know it." She put her hand up again. This time it landed on his chest; he was closing in. "What if someone hears?"_

_He shook his head and raised his eyebrows, circling his index finger in the air. "Sound-proofing." He checked his watch. "You're out of excuses, McNally. And we have exactly fifteen minutes left of Luda's break." He stepped up close to her again, getting a knee in between her legs. He bumped his nose against hers, skimming her lips with his. "So, you in?"_

_Andy stared at him, chewing on her lip, and after a long moment, when she lightly scratched her nails against his chest, his smile spread and he kissed her hard. Instantly, she opened under him, moaning loudly when he thrust his tongue in against hers, and moved his thigh up and pressed it into her. His hands were on her shirt again, had finally freed it from her pants and were now rapidly unbuttoning it, fingers flowing over the placket expertly. His thigh was riding higher between her legs, and she'd be lying if she said it wasn't getting to her; if she said it wasn't making her break into a hot sweat, making her breath come short and shallow against his face. But when his hands moved to her belt, she grabbed them and looked at him seriously. "The pants are staying on, buddy."_

_He grinned wolfishly. "I can work with that."_

_She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I cannot believe I'm doing this," Andy muttered, but the corners of her mouth were curling. She released his hands and found herself holding her breath as he unbuckled her belt, unbuttoned her pants, and lowered the zipper. As his knuckles skimmed the elastic of her underwear, his mouth covered hers again, and she nipped at his lip, gripping his arms tightly when he growled into her mouth. When she tipped her head away to take a breath, she narrowed her eyes playfully._

"_You are gonna owe me so huge after this."_

_Sam laughed as he traced over the front of her underwear with his fingertips.__As he watched her eyes darken, when he heard the quiet, involuntary begging noise she made in her throat, and he smirked and leaned in. "If this goes the way I imagined it, I think __**you'll**__ probably owe __**me**__," he murmured against her ear._

_She let her head fall back against the divider, and inhaled right before he took her mouth again. When his warm fingers first grazed the skin of her stomach, she took a shuddery breath. And when he flattened his palm against it, and very slowly, slid down under the elastic of her underwear, she gasped into his mouth._

_He'd barely touched her, only had time to mutter a brief "Jesus Christ" at the feeling of her hot against his palm, when they heard the noise. A sort of rattle. He froze against her, hand trapped between her legs as she snapped them closed. Her teeth sunk into his lower lip, hard, as her eyes snapped open. Then came the hiss of the airlock and the creak of the door as it swung open. Andy started scrambling, shoving at him, but he leaned into her, holding her in place._

"_Swarek?" Frank called, his voice echoing throughout the room._

_Sam exhaled forcefully through his nose, cursing softly, and tipped his head against hers, trying to calm them both down. Andy squeezed her eyes shut, breath coming heard and fast. "Yeah, Frank," she heard him say in a strangled voice. He leaned again, poking his head around the divider to look at Best, keeping his lower body carefully hidden, pinning her between his hips and the wall. Andy gripped his wrist hard, nails digging into his flesh as her heart pounded nearly out of her chest._

"_Luda said you were in here." _

_Andy heard him take another couple of steps closer and her heart caught in her throat as Sam took a heavy breath and then pulled his hand out of her pants. She slumped back against the divider, knees practically knocking together as her hands fumbled at the fastening of her pants._

"_Boyd's in my office," she heard Frank say. "He wants to see you before you leave tonight." _

"_He couldn't have come earlier?" Sam muttered under his breath, but flashed a quick smile and nodded. "Yeah, I'll be right out. Just…ah…just gotta get my stuff together."_

"_Sounds good. See you out there." Sam moved back around the barrier, pulled Andy into his arms and pressed his face into her hair, inhaling deeply as Frank's footsteps landed quickly as he headed back out of the room. But they stopped before the door opened. "Oh, Swarek?"_

_Again, Sam swung his head around. "Yeah, boss." _

"_Have you seen McNally? She forgot to sign one of her reports," Frank clarified, sounding far too close for comfort. Andy sucked in a breath, not even close to being ready to face her boss. Sam's other hand slid up her neck, cupped her face, thumb stroking slowly over her jaw as he addressed Best._

"_She left a while ago. I'm just cleaning up."_

"_Okay. I'll see you in a few minutes." This time, Sam watched as Frank walked out of the room, letting the door fall shut behind him. Then he moved back against Andy, running his hand behind her head as he held her to him, as he pressed a kiss against her hair._

_Andy exhaled forcefully and then she pushed at Sam, pounding at his chest with her fists. "You are totally at the top of my shit list right now," she hissed, finally dropping her hands to do up her pants. He was laughing, pressing her back up against the wall again. She shoved at him ineffectually, letting her head fall back in defeated mortification after a few seconds. His hands moved to her shirt and she slapped them away. "They could totally fire us," she muttered, feeling stupid and panicky and still inexplicably turned on. _

_Sam just pushed her hands out of the way, and his fingers went to her buttons. "Just let me help," he said gently when she tried to pull away again. As she tipped her head down, she watched as he unbuttoned and rebuttoned. She'd misaligned the placket; she was crooked. After he finished, she glanced away and started stuffing her shirt back into her waistband. "And they wouldn't fire us anyway. They need us."_

"_They need __**you**__." Her hands were still shaking as she fastened up her pants, buckled her belt and then she started to move, to walk away on even shakier legs, but he put his arms up, planting his hands on either side of her head. _

"_Look, I'm sorry." He ducked his head down to hers, ran his nose along the side of her face. "It was a bad idea." _

_She rolled her eyes and then put her hands on his chest, smoothing them over his shirt. Then she shook her head. "Maybe. But it would have been kind of…" She took a breath. "Kind of awesome."_

_He raised an eyebrow. "Really?" Like he wasn't sure he believed her._

_She ran her lip through her teeth, purely to keep the grin off her face. Then she nodded. "Yeah. Really."_

_He raised an eyebrow and smoothed a hand down over her hip, tugging her against him one last time. "So, maybe when I come back we could try it again?" _

_She flashed her teeth at him. Now that she was dressed and the fear of discovery was slowly dissipating, she couldn't deny the thrill of it. Not even to herself. "I think next time, we can do better," she said quirking an eyebrow at him suggestively. "You know, finish, or whatever."_

_He chuckled and bent down to her ear, running his lips over the lobe. "You're a tease, McNally," he growled. "Am I going to see you tonight?" As if they both didn't already know the answer to that question._

_She nodded, and leaned up, kissing him quick. "I'll grab your stuff. But, uh… You think you're okay to go out there? You know…" Her eyes bounced down once to the vicinity of his belt, and then she grinned up at him._

_He pushed out an amused snort. "Yeah, well, Best is sort of a buzz kill. Plus, you know that I'm not actually sixteen, right? I do have __**some **__self-control."_

_Andy rolled her eyes. "I'll believe that when I see it." She let the challenge hang out there, and then ran her hands up his chest. "Just hurry okay?" She took a deep breath and her lips moved against his as she spoke. "And Sam?"_

"_Yeah?" he said with a smile as he lifted his head and reluctantly let go of her, backing towards the door. _

"_Thanks for the lesson," she said, giving him a wide grin._

_He chuckled and then ran his hand up behind his neck, ruffling the hair at the back of his head; somehow managing to look both proud and a little shy at the same time. "Hey," he said, aiming for casual, coming out a little rough. "What are partners for, right?"_

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><p><strong>Saturday, March 31<strong>

Andy lowered her gun for a few seconds, teeth dug hard into her lower lip as she tried to control the shit-eating grin quickly spreading across her face. It took a while, probably the longest minute of her life as her cheeks flamed and her chest shook with silent laughter. After it was properly subdued, she wet her lip and she lifted the Glock again, resting on her back foot, holding it solidly in her hand. Bracing with her left, she sucked in a breath, blew out half and fired. One shot after another for five more counts. Then she lowered the weapon, hit the return button, and whipped off her safety glasses and earmuffs. As the target flew up, she removed the brace on her right hand and rotated the joint, wincing the whole time.

"Aim's not bad," Stone said as she came up behind her, lifting her own glasses as the target rattled to a stop. She glanced down at Andy's hand. "How does it feel?"

"Hurts like hell," Andy said with a small smile. She glanced at the target. Unlike the cartoonish paper targets used at 15 Division, it was a simple upper body outline. Low on the chest, maybe around diaphragm level, was a loose cluster of six holes. She shook her head in disappointment and then ejected the clip from her Glock and cleared the chamber. "And my aim has been better."

"The cast only came off a few weeks ago. Maybe you should give it some more time," Stone said as she stepped up next to Andy and field-stripped her weapon. She reached into her black nylon range bag and pulled out a small box. Inside were cleaning rods, patches, a bore brush, some solvents, oil, and a few other tools.

"It's been over a month," Andy muttered, but shook her head. "The doctor cleared me. It'll be fine." She too removed the slide from her gun, took out the barrel and the recoil spring assembly and started cleaning.

They worked separately; the same actions, the same practiced movements. It felt natural to Andy, the maintenance, the feeling of the pieces coming apart in her hands. She reamed out the barrel a few times, first with the bore brush, and then with a few patches until the cloth came back clean, then she wiped down the recoil spring. When Stone finished up, Andy was handed another brush, and she went to work on the frame. Finally, she replaced the spring and the barrel and then ran the whole thing back up the rails, letting it snap back into place.

Once outside the range, the guns went into the trunk of Stone's car and as she slammed it down, Andy glanced up, squinting in the bright sun. Spring had finally arrived. All around her, even in the city, she could smell it; amongst the exhaust from the cars, and the scents from restaurants and people. She could smell the dampness in the air and in the ground; the plants poking through the dirt, the leaves budding on the trees. Back in Willow Bend, it was far more potent; the smell of wet decaying leaves in the woods behind her house was almost cloying. She should have enjoyed it, winter finally departing, warmth settling into the air. But she didn't. Not entirely.

She climbed into the car, buckled her belt and leaned her seat back a few degrees as Stone pulled out of the lot. Andy dropped her sunglasses down onto her nose and closed her eyes. It was by no means early in the day, but Andy was tired, all the way through her body down to her toes.

They were on the edge of town by the time Stone finally spoke. "How's your dad doing?"

"He's good," Andy said, shifting in her seat.

"That's…informative," Stone muttered, taking a left as the light turned green. "Care to elaborate?"

Andy yawned and shrugged. "You talk to him."

Stone shot a glance over at her. "Yeah, but lately, we seem to be talking a lot about _you_."

Andy scratched at a worn patch on her jeans, but didn't turn her head. "What's he saying?"

Stone reached between them, snagged a bottle of water from the console and took a drink before answering. "He says you've been quiet, a little moody maybe."

Andy gave a tight, irritated smile. "Anything else?

"He said you're spending a lot of time alone lately." Stone's eyes flitted over to Andy for a second and then back to the road. "You know, walks in the woods with the dog. Shutting yourself up in your room. Avoiding Rebecca. Which, normally, I could understand, but I know you were spending a lot of time over there."

Andy shrugged. "I'm trying to get Brody off the leash. And Dad likes to leave the TV on while he naps. It's annoying."

"And Rebecca?"

Andy looked out her window. "I just haven't felt like company lately, I guess."

"Okay," Stone said, obviously working to keep her tone casual. "So what's the story? I thought that having your dad here would make things easier."

Andy shrugged. "So did I." She looked over and gave her an apologetic smile. "I guess I just got used to it. Being here alone. I'm screwed up."

"No, you two are just getting used to each other again," Stone said, eyes on the road. "What's really going on?" She gave Andy a quick glance, and when she saw her staring at her, she frowned. "Seriously. What is it?"

Andy swallowed and took a deep breath as she looked down and pulled her knees up, balancing her heels on the very edge of the seat. "It just seems so easy for him," she admitted quietly. "I think he sees it as some really long undercover assignment."

Stone considered it. "Well, I suppose it kind of is. What's the problem with that?"

The problem was that Andy'd figured that her dad would need more time to settle in, to get his bearings. In addition, she'd expected a sort of ally, someone who would commiserate with her over the difficulty of their situation. But that had been a miscalculation. Because Tommy McNally - who was so resistant to change that he'd stayed at the same station his whole career and had owned the same furniture and hideous table lamp since before her mother left - was thriving.

"Nothing, really," Andy relented. "I guess I just thought it would be harder for him. Like it is for me. But he…" She shrugged. "He _is_ Mike McAllister. He's only been in town three weeks and he's already got everything set up. He's been to almost a dozen AA meetings, he's down at that café on Main Street twice a week rolling dice with a couple of guys from his group. And really, who the hell rolls dice these days?" She shook her head in frustration. "He told me the other day that he's even got a line on a job. Some hardware store." She glanced over, saw Stone raising an eyebrow at her. "It's just not fair," she finished, knowing exactly how childish she sounded, and not caring a single bit.

But she wasn't exaggerating. Tommy had spent exactly one week tiptoeing around Andy's routine, figuring out which drawer the silverware went into, where the nearest grocery store was, and then it was business as usual. The same applied to their behavior toward each other. For that first week, they'd been sort of…polite. Andy tried to make him feel welcome and Tommy tried not to force himself too readily into her space. But by the second week, all bets were off.

It was actually a vivid reminder of why Andy had moved out as soon as she'd been old enough to afford it. They got along fine under normal circumstances, but when constantly in close quarters, they wore on each other. Sometime over the course of his sobriety, he'd developed the habit of rising at 6:00 AM and finishing up any dishes leftover from the night before. While she appreciated this, she wished he'd at least wait until her alarm went off. And Tommy hated the way his daughter left the remote on the sofa, letting it fall between the cushions so he had to send out a search party every time he wanted to watch something. Just little things like that.

But more than anything, Andy was resentful of the fact that he'd managed to just fall right into it. That he was taking to the new life like he'd been born into it. Like it didn't even faze him to have to literally create a new being out of thin air. In fact, they'd been sharing a pizza the second week and he'd clicked on the television, leaned back in his chair and winked at her, saying, "See, honey? Just like it was back at home." He'd turned back to the game not even aware that she was staring at him, her brows drawn together and her mouth dropped open in shocked disagreement. Because it wasn't. Not at all. Not even a little bit. At least, not for Andy.

Back home, they wouldn't be eating nearly every meal together in a house that was, for all intents and purposes, hers. The person she'd be excited to come home to at night wouldn't have four legs and a serious case of dog breath. And she wouldn't be feeling as if she were constantly on the edge of a full blown identity crisis, trying desperately to hold onto the person she _was _while the people closest to her were encouraging her to be someone else.

The bitterness and mental exhaustion were taking their toll; she was feeling a little worn down.

Stone took a few moments before finally replying, her voice patient and calm. "Well, it's not really the same, is it? Your dad had some time to prepare for this. He had nothing left in Toronto; nothing holding him there. No…baggage." Andy rolled her eyes as Stone took an exit off the highway and turned onto the road to Willow Bend. "And given the circumstances surrounding his retirement and the history with your mom, I can see why he'd embrace the chance to make a fresh start."

Andy looked over in surprise. "He talked to you about all that?"

Stone shrugged. "Well, you told me about most of it, and I _do_ have some pretty amazing resources at my disposal." She nodded. "But yeah. He talked about it a little." They drove in silence for a while. "He must really miss it. Being a cop, I mean," she said quietly.

"He's not the only one," Andy said, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Walked right into that one," Stone muttered. "Listen, I've told you this before, but relocation is different for everyone. Some people, like your dad, look at it as a chance at a brand new life. And other people…" She looked at her. "It just takes them a while to realize that the longer they resist, the longer they're going to be miserable."

"But I'm not resisting. I'm playing your game. I mean, I've got a job, and I'm making friends –"

"Who you've been skipping out on lately," Stone reminded her.

Andy shrugged. "I'm tired. And with Dad here…" She folded her arms across her middle. "And all the memories and stuff, I'm just worried I'll let something slip." It was a feeble excuse, but valid given the fact that she'd already spilled the beans about Sam to Rebecca. And by her nod, Andy thought Jill bought it. She was actually feeling a little bad about it; about blowing off Rebecca. At first, it'd made sense to spend more time at home, to hang out with her Dad, to help him settle in. But that took far less time than she'd expected, and though everything had quieted down eventually, the welcome disruption into the life she was building had left her a little unsettled; had stirred up emotions and memories she'd been suppressing. She simply hadn't had the energy to head across the street, and deal with the endless chatter and curious looks. There were far too many days lately where she wasn't sure she could pull off her cover story. In fact, sometimes, she wasn't even sure she wanted to anymore; she wasn't sure about any of it.

Stone glanced over at her. "It's hard because you're still holding on to what you had in Toronto. It's easy for your dad because he's committed to this new life; to this new identity. You just have to do the same thing. You have to commit. You know; _be_ Abby. Figure out who she is so when people ask you questions, you don't have to think about it. You just know."

Andy smiled, a real smile, teeth flashing briefly. "That sounds like something Sam said to me once." But then the smile faded as she absorbed the full impact of Stone's words.

If what Stone said was true, letting Abby in meant letting go of the things and people that made her Andy. And she wasn't ready to do that. Some nights, she'd lie awake, sure that she'd never really be done with Toronto and with the people who lived there. And other nights, she'd curl up on her side, fearful that they were already slipping away, whether she wanted it or not; that it had already begun. She didn't think about Traci and the others as often as she used to. In fact, she'd realized only the day before that she'd missed Oliver's birthday by a solid month. And then of course, there was Sam.

When she'd first left Ontario, he'd been so vivid in her mind. Every aspect of him from the adorable wrinkles at the corners of his eyes to the rough touch of his hands. And now, most of the time she felt as if her memories of him were reduced to that single picture on that memory card, and to random surprise moments in the day; like that morning at the shooting range. It was harder and harder to summon them up at will. Harder to stretch the moments out, to truly relive them. With the photo, she could remember how he looked, but she couldn't remember the smell of his skin, or the press of his body against hers. The exact timbre of his voice was lost somewhere in the twist of present and past; and the last few conversations they'd had, the words themselves were fading. She was doing it; making it on her own, without him. But she didn't want to.

"Your dad also said you've been asking him questions about Toronto," Stone ventured several minutes later, snapping Andy out of her thoughts.

She looked over. "Actually, I think the word is _'badgering.' _As in 'Andy, stop badgering me; I've already told you everything,'" she mimicked with a grin.

Yes, she'd been asking her dad about Sam. Well, more like harassing him, actually. Obviously there'd been questions since he'd arrived. At first, seemingly innocent queries, subtle mentions that were intended to get Tommy talking. However, the curiosity had morphed into a sort of daily inquisition, and for that Andy was sorry. But she couldn't stop asking. It was beginning to put a slight strain on the relationship between them.

And well, the only problem with all that was the more Andy heard about Sam, the more she _wanted_ to hear about Sam. And in truth, she was starting to feel like she _needed_ it.; like it was some strange addiction.

The truly low point had come just days before. Tommy had been out, and for some reason, though she looked at them most nights, running through the file of pictures with one extra glass of wine after dinner had been a mistake. Across the street, she'd seen Riley's red Suburban pulled up outside Rebecca's house, and they'd tried; first Rebecca, and then, when she hadn't answered, Riley had actually come bounding across the street and had pounded on her front door. She'd sat still as a statue at the table in her darkened dining room until the banging had ceased and Brody stopped pacing at the front door, until his expectant whine died away.

And then, she'd slammed back the rest of her wine and pulled out her phone. She'd dialed the first nine digits of Sam's number. Her thumb had actually been resting against the very last number when her dad walked in through the garage. She'd been kicked back in her chair, feet up on the table and had nearly toppled herself over right onto the floor when she heard the door open. They'd greeted each other, Andy's heart trip-hammering all over the place, and then, she'd combed her fingers through her hair, walked into her bedroom and chucked the phone into the depths of her closet. It had stayed there until morning.

Remembering that night, the weird meld of panic and shame, Andy's smile faded a little and she looked down at her knees, scratched a finger against the denim. "He uh… He told me you asked him too. About Sam." She glanced up at Stone who was looking suddenly uncomfortable, like she'd been found out. At that, Andy blurted out the question she'd wanted to ask for the last few weeks. "What did he tell you?"

"Probably the same things he told you," Stone said after a pause. "Nothing specific."

"So you haven't been keeping tabs on him?"

Stone shot her a look. "No. I haven't."

"But you could?"

Another look; this one more warning than anything else. "No."

"What about those 'amazing resources'? I'd think it'd be easy for you."

Stone took a deep breath and looked at the clock. She didn't answer.

"C'mon Jill. I'm just curious."

Jill gave a short laugh. "No, you're not. You're desperate. You'd never ask me to do this otherwise. You know what I'm going to say."

"Look," Andy said, popping her seat fully upright. "Dad said he didn't have a chance to explain, or say goodbye. I just want to know that he's okay." Which was the understatement of the year. There wasn't enough time in the day for Andy to cover everything she wanted to know about Sam. "I mean, he could have gone on another undercover assignment with Boyd. He could be _dead_ and I wouldn't even know it." The statement was meant to make an impact, and it did. On Andy. Her voice shook a little at the end, she felt a little nausea swim up into her stomach at the thought of Sam stretched out in the morgue. She turned away, and looked out the window as she took a breath, waited for the queasiness to pass. It was more than a few minutes before anyone said anything else.

"He's not dead, okay?" Stone finally said in a tight voice.

"How do you know?"

"Because I would have gotten a call."

Andy's head snapped around and she stared at her a few seconds as the words sank in. "Do you have him flagged or something?"

Stone licked her lips and leaned forward, visibly relaxing as they reached the city limits. "Not exactly. I just asked to be notified if something major happened."

"Why?"

Stone looked at her. "Because I thought you'd want to know if something happened to him."

Andy took a good minute or two to think that over, fingers clutched tightly around her ankles, knees up against her chest as the car rattled over the bridge through the center of town. She knew what she'd see if she looked out the window. She'd taken Brody down the asphalt path running alongside the water just the day before. The river below was rushing, high with spring melt, the long branches of the willows were hanging down, studded with tiny leaves. Instead, she turned to Stone.

"So, can't you call up whoever and just ask how he is?"

"No, I can't," Stone said again.

"Yes, you can," Andy said in a hard voice.

"Fine," Stone answered in an equally cold tone. "I won't."

"Why not?" She swallowed hard. The thick, sad feeling in Andy's throat hadn't been a part of the plan. Tears had their place in negotiation, but in the past, they'd proven virtually useless against Stone.

"Beyond the obvious?" Stone asked distractedly, cranking the wheel as she pulled onto Andy's road. "It's going to set you back, way more than you can possibly imagine. You think you haven't made a lot of progress, but you have." She looked at Andy, widening her eyes to make her point. "It might still be difficult most of the time, but you're doing it, making money, taking care of yourself, you're building a support system. Really, you've come a long way, and teasing yourself with information about Sam is only going make it worse for you in the long run. I promise." She shook her head. "And this part probably isn't as important to you, but if I did that, I'd be breaking about a dozen rules; I could get into real trouble if my boss found out. Not to mention the serious breach in ethics."

"Jill…" Andy began as she watched the houses rush by on either side of the car.

"Just explain it to me." She whipped the car up into Andy's driveway, threw it into park and turned in her seat. "Explain how this is going to make things easier for you. I mean, do you remember those first few weeks? Because I do, and they weren't pretty."

"Of course I do."

"Well, get ready for a repeat. Because if you somehow convince me to do this, it's going to be bad."

Andy looked down, chewed on her lip for a long moment and then she threw in the last of her hand.

"What if I said I'd never ask you again? That this would be the last time we'd have to have this conversation?"

"And in six months, when you suddenly can't take it anymore, and swear you'll hold your breath unless I check again?" Stone asked sharply, closing her eyes as she leaned her head back against the seat. "God, I've had it with this shit," she muttered under her breath. "This isn't how we do things."

"Well obviously the way you do things isn't working," Andy replied, voice going sort of hollow and wet on the last two words. "Look, I just need this okay? And if you don't find out…" She paused as she sucked in a shuddery breath. "I don't know what I'll do to get what I want. But I know you won't like it."

Stone's eyes cut to hers, held them in a hard stare. That was the instant Andy knew she had her. Stone could threaten and yell all she wanted, but she couldn't watch Andy 24/7. And Andy was beginning to realize that after all this time, after all the money they'd sunk into this whole thing, there's no way they'd just kick her out.

"If I do this for you, and I'm in no way promising that I will," Stone clarified, pointing a finger at Andy. "I'm going to need something from you. Something big. And I'm not talking about showing up at work every day or seeing your friend. I'm going to need real proof that you're committed to this new life. I don't want to be back in this car having this same argument in six weeks."

"Like what?" Andy pounced, switching instantly to bargaining mode.

Stone shrugged and once again put her hand on the door latch. "Something that's going to tie you here. Something to help bring Abby to life. Start a book club, finally decorate your house, whatever. Surprise me." She glanced up in the rearview mirror. "Looks like you have company."

Andy glanced over her shoulder, out the back window and saw Rebecca trotting quickly down the walk, crossing the street behind them. "Fantastic." She looked out the front window again as Tommy walked out of the house, down the steps and crossed the lawn, Brody following at his heels. "By the way," Andy said, still feeling a little infantile. "Dad's not completely over Toronto. He's trying to teach Brody commands in German." Stone blinked at her. "You know, like they do on the force."

Stone cursed and was out of the car in an instant, striding over to Tommy. Andy grinned and then got out, only to find herself face to face with Rebecca.

"Hey," Rebecca said, almost nervously, like she wasn't quite sure what reaction to expect. For that, Andy felt a little guilty. "Look, I know you're still pissed about that whole Riley thing –"

"I'm not," Andy said quickly, truthfully.

Rebecca frowned. "So, you've been avoiding me because….?"

Andy glanced over her shoulder at Stone and Tommy who were deep into conversation, hands flying in jerky gestures towards Brody who sat there grinning with his tongue hanging out. Then she turned back to Rebecca. "I've just been spending time with my dad. You know, family stuff," she lied, topping it off with a semi-convincing smile.

"So, we're okay then?" Rebecca asked. "Because we're supposed to go over to Riley's tonight, and I don't want things to be weird."

"We're fine." Andy nodded glancing down. Rebecca was twisting her fingers, clenching her hands tightly together. "Are _you_ okay?"

She gave an anxious laugh. "Actually, I want to do something, and I'm a little nervous about it, and I saw you and thought maybe you'd come with me?" She asked the last bit with a sheepish smile and Andy gave her a puzzled laugh.

"I guess. Where are we going?"

Rebecca spun around and Andy got a look at the thick twisted brain that fell halfway down her back. "I was thinking of chopping it. You know, maybe shoulder-length? What do you think?" For a second, Andy didn't answer, just imagined over a foot of blonde hair falling to the floor. She swallowed hard. "What? What's that look?" Rebecca asked, voice a little panicky.

Andy shook her head. "No. Nothing." She flashed an encouraging smile. "It'll be great."

"So, you'll do it with me?"

"Whoa," Andy said quickly, holding a hand up. "I'll _go_ with you. But I'm not cutting mine." She ran her hand down over her ponytail, pulled it over her shoulder and checked out the ends. "Well, maybe a trim."

Rebecca grinned at her and looped her arm through Andy's towing her across the street. "Oh, come on. Where's your sense of adventure? You'll feel like a whole new person." Andy stopped in her tracks and Rebecca pulled away from her. "What? What did I say?" But Andy was looking over her shoulder at Stone, and after a second, Jill raised her eyes to hers. Andy held the stare for a moment. It wouldn't be enough; not by a long shot. But it would be a start. A little good faith. Without another thought, she turned back and walked quickly past Rebecca. "Hey, what's going on?" Rebecca said loudly, scampering after her at a slow run.

"Let's just do this before I change my mind," Andy said, hauling herself up into the passenger seat of Rebecca's van.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe I did this," Rebecca said, voice shaking as she leaned forward and stared at herself in the mirror.<p>

"Me either," Andy muttered. She ran her fingers through her hair, feeling a strange dip when the layers ended just above her shoulders.

Next to her, Rebecca was using both hands, smoothing the thick chin-length cut down. "Oh, what did I do, what did I do, what did I do?" she whispered to herself.

Andy was still looking at her own reflection. She blew out a heavy breath, blinking a few times. She knew she was being stupid. It was only seven or eight inches. No big deal. But she couldn't remember the last time her hair had been so short.

"I don't get it," Riley said from where he was leaning against the door frame. Both women froze and their eyes shot to him. "It's just hair. It'll grow back." Rebecca glared at him and then whirled around, brushing past him and stalking down the hallway. He looked back at Andy. "Won't it?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're not a girl. You wouldn't get it." Plus, there was no way she would ever admit that the real reason she was so twisted inside over it was because the second after they made the first cut, an image of Sam flashed behind her eyes; of the way he used to wrap her hair around his fist, smoothing his thumb over it. He loved her hair; it was no secret. But at that point, it was too late.

She tucked it behind her ears and then hid an amused smile as Rebecca flew back into the small bathroom, leaned over the counter and combed her fingers through her hair. She looked over at Andy. "It looks okay, right?" Initially, they'd cut it off at her shoulders, and fueled by some unknown fire, Rebecca had given them a crazy smile and said, "Maybe a little shorter." Almost three inches later, she was having a little buyer's remorse.

"It looks great," Andy said truthfully, giving her a smile and a nod. Rebecca nodded back absently and then gave it a tousle, messing it up a little.

Riley glanced over his shoulder. "Well, not to interrupt whatever this is, but I need some help, if you two aren't busy."

Rebecca stared at him in the mirror. "My kids are at my mom's. I've had a bad day. It's my night off; I'm just here to eat and drink." She turned around and walked out of the room. "Not in that order," she shouted back over her shoulder.

"You know what got into her?" Andy asked distractedly as she faced the mirror, gathering her hair, testing out a ponytail.

Riley didn't answer right away, but when she met his eyes, he nodded. "Tony's getting remarried."

Andy stilled, elbow in the air, hand fisted around her hair. Then she let go, let her arms fall back to her sides. "Oh." She turned around and leaned past him to look down the hall. "Is she going to be okay?"

He shrugged. "When they split up, she took a couple of classes, got a new job. She just needs to work it out of her system."

"You're sure?" Andy leaned back, hands and butt up against the bathroom counter as she watched Rebecca pace at the other end of the hallway. Riley cleared his throat and her eyes flew back to him. He hadn't moved, but was watching her with a raised eyebrow. "What?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. She'll be fine. You up for helping?"

Andy snorted and gave him a look. "Stirring is pretty much as far as I go."

"Where does making a salad fall on your scale?"

She shrugged. "I'll give it a shot." She edged past him, shoulder grazing the front of his shirt as she moved down the narrow hallway.

She entered the kitchen and looked around. Rebecca was drinking a beer, taking her time setting the table. The room itself was large, with a giant butcher block-covered island right in the center, and a rack of pots and pans hanging high over the top of it. And like the rest of Riley's house, it was clean. Spotless actually, except for the pile of vegetables stacked near the cutting board and the pots simmering on the stovetop. She stepped up to the island and then spun around to face Riley as he came around the corner.

"So what do you want me to do?" she asked, hands on her hips.

He reached around her, plucked a red onion out of the plastic bag and tossed it to her. "Go nuts."

She caught it and raised her eyebrows. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

He gave her an amused look, and then reached past her again and snagged a large knife out of the block. "Peel it, cut it in half, slice it up." Andy drew a breath in through her nose and turned towards the cutting board, giving Rebecca an irritated look. But she cut the ends off, ripped the peel off in a few large chunks and sliced it lengthwise. She started cutting it, forming a pile of long strips. She was about to do the second half when Riley leaned over her shoulder.

"Thinner. You're making salad, not fajitas." Andy gave him a dirty look.

"I know how to cut an onion."

"Are you sure?" he joked, grinning. "Here." He moved to stand beside her and slid the whole cutting board over in front of him. "You want to hold it like this." He set his hand on top of it, knuckles down. "And move the knife like this." He did it slowly at first, the motion smooth and easy. Then, he sped it up into a practiced, fluid movement until he had a loosely clustered short stack of slices. Then, he slid the cutting board back to her, and snatched another onion. "Try again."

Her eyebrows shot up. "That's a lot of onion."

He gave her a grin. "And I'll use it all week." When her mouth dropped open, he gestured at the knife. "Try it."

"What is this, slave labor?" Andy muttered, but turned around to the counter, catching the smirk Rebecca threw at her.

"I'd help, but onions make me cry like a baby," she said. "Him too," she added before she downed the rest of her beer and wandered out of the room, not noticing the look Riley threw her way.

Andy watched her leave, then started again slowly, getting halfway through before she glanced to her left and found Riley next to her, staring down at her hands. As she paused, he nodded.

"Looks good. Finish up." Then he turned back to the stove.

By the time Andy was done with the onion and had also cut up a green pepper, Riley had a large pot of water set up to boil on one of the back burners. He'd had crushed a clove of garlic and was adding it to a second hot saucepan already coated with a little olive oil. Andy stayed where she was for a minute or two, craning her neck to see around him.

"Ready for something else?" Riley asked glancing at her over his shoulder.

"I guess," Andy answered. He gave the garlic a quick stir and then quickly pulled a plastic container of basil from the fridge. She quirked an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you don't grow your own," she teased.

"Don't really have much of a green thumb, I guess," he said with a small smile and opened it up, tossing out a small handful. "You want to stack a few of these leaves, and then roll them up." Andy watched as he worked quickly, then grabbed a fresh knife and ran it through a few times. "Thin like the onion. Give it a shot." He passed her the knife and turned back to the stove. Andy finished up what he'd begun and then started another stack. By the time she started to smell the garlic, she was finished and Riley was pouring some white wine into the pan. He added a few other ingredients, then scooped the basil off the cutting board and stirred it in, letting it simmer. Then, he tipped his head toward the fridge. "Want to grab the fish for me?"

"Sure." Andy walked to the fridge and paused for a second, eyes moving quickly over a few photos stuck onto it with magnets. One in particular, a shot with Riley and maybe five or six other people at a park or campground caught her eye. She stared at it for a few seconds, noting the deep summer tans, the backpacks and huge smiles.

"Abby?"

She glanced over. "Oh, sorry," she said, and then opened the fridge and grabbed the large package wrapped in white butcher's paper off the bottom shelf and carried it over to him. She set it on the counter and tore off the sticker and unwrapped it, revealing three large salmon fillets.

"And can you grab the pasta from the fridge? The big container on the top shelf?" Andy did, and set it on the counter as Riley dropped the fish onto the hot grill pan. He gave his hands a quick wash, then snatched a large sieve with a handle and started to load it up with the homemade linguine he pulled from the container.

"You made it?" Andy asked, a little impressed.

"Yeah, did it this morning," he said, like it was nothing. He dropped the sieve into the boiling water, stirred the sauce once more, checked the fish and then exhaled loudly as he walked over to the fridge. He reached in and snatched out two bottles of beer.

"Here you go," he said, tossing one to her. She snatched it out of the air, more out of reflex more than out of readiness, and gave him an annoyed glare when he grinned at her. "You earned it." He twisted the cap off, drained half in one shot, then tipped his head toward the living room where Rebecca was lounging on his couch in front of the television. Riley's small chocolate lab was nestled up next to her, nosing selfishly at her hand. "Go relax. I'll call you when it's ready."

* * *

><p>They all ate until they were stuffed, and even then, Andy found herself dragging the last piece of bread through the remaining sauce on her plate. She washed the bite down with a healthy swig of white wine and leaned back in her chair, groaning.<p>

"Yeah, I should have worn my stretchy pants," Rebecca said with a grin. Then she got to her feet and carried her plate to the sink, gave it a quick rinse and poured another glass of wine. She'd just sat down again when a cellphone started ringing. They all immediately started checking pockets. Andy jumped up and snatched hers off the island, but it was Rebecca who finally answered.

"Yeah, Mom," she said rolling her eyes at Andy. "No, I don't want to talk about it." She blew out a frustrated breath. "Because there's nothing to say, alright?" She looked at Andy and mouthed _Sorry_ and then turned around, walking quickly out of the room. Andy could hear her somewhere past the living room, voice firm, trying to keep it down, but failing for the most part.

Andy looked at Riley, eyebrows up but he shook his head. "She's fine."

"Well, what's all that?"

"Her mom is just worried. She's okay," he said with a nod. "She'll paint her house, or learn to rock climb, and things will go back to normal."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged and Andy swiveled in her chair as he walked to the sink, scraping the last bits of salad into the garbage disposal. "She just sort of…reinvents herself, or something. Some change to distract her until it doesn't bother her so much. She did the same thing when she got divorced, and when her dad died last year."

"And that works?" Andy asked skeptically.

Riley grabbed a rag and wiped the table down, lifting her glass out of the way and setting it back down when he was finished. Then he tossed the rag back into the sink, refilled his glass and rejoined her at the table.

"Works for her. Everyone deals with that stuff in their own way." He glanced over Andy's shoulder towards the living room, but Rebecca hadn't reappeared. "The problem, of course, is that no matter what you do, you're always the same person underneath." He lifted his glass to his mouth. "Can't change that," he said quietly before taking a drink.

"What do you mean?" Andy asked again, frowning, a crease forming between her eyebrows as she propped her head up on her hand. Her mission, at least the way Stone had explained it, was to create this new person. New habits, new likes and dislikes, new hobbies. But what Riley was saying was at complete odds with that, and it sounded…_right._

He shrugged and pushed his chair back from the table, crossing his ankle over his knee. "Just that people don't change. Not really. You'll always be Abby. Even if you change the way you look," he said pointedly, tossing her a nod.

Andy snorted; but her hand moved over her hair self-consciously.

"Something funny about that?" he asked, looking at her seriously..

She raised her eyebrows and shook her head, trying to contain the ironic smile she felt coming on. "No. Not at all." She took another drink of wine, finishing it off. "But reinvention… I mean, isn't the whole point to become a different person?"

"Well, that's Rebecca's word. But after everything, she's still the same girl I knew ten years ago. She's just older, more complicated." His eyes suddenly took on a probing gleam. "Why are you so interested in reinvention? Is that why you moved here? To become a different person?"

Andy shook her head. "You know I moved here for my family."

"And how's that going? Your family, I mean," he asked.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, smiling back ruefully. "Not well."

"Why not?"

Andy tucked her hair behind her ear. "Well…" She cleared her throat, trying to find a way to explain while still remaining vague. She took a deep breath and nodded, tapping her nails against the base of her wine glass. "I guess part of it is because they want me to be someone I'm not. If that makes sense," she added quickly, eyes jumping to his.

After a beat, he nodded. "How?" She raised her eyebrows at the question. "If you don't mind me asking, I mean."

She ran her finger along the grain of the wood in the table top. "They're trying to convince me to…start over. To move on, I guess. Like moving here means I should just forget parts of my life. My 'old' life," she said, using air quotes. "It's exhausting."

"What was so bad about your old life?"

Andy pulled her lower lip between her teeth, and shook her head. "Nothing. It was just different."

Again, Riley was quiet, and after a long pause, she looked over at him, found him watching her sort of curiously. Like he had a dozen questions, but wasn't sure how to ask. Finally, he shook his head. "Well, that's unrealistic. You can't just stop caring about the things you cared about." Andy froze as his words struck a memory long buried; Sam the first day they worked together as he dug around that dingy cover apartment. Images flew behind her eyes; of him kicking in Emily's door, of the way his hand brushed hers when he smiled and took the suitcase from her, of the tense, charged moment behind the Penny that same night. She pressed her lips together, holding in the smile. Then she raised her eyes to Riley's again. He was quirking an eyebrow at her, puzzled. "I mean," he said, qualifying his previous statement. "If you liked football where you lived before, you're going to like football here, right?"

This time, Andy let the smile out. "Basketball."

"What?" His eyebrows went up with the question.

"I played basketball."

"Don't tell Rebecca that. She's grooming AJ to be the star catcher of her softball team." A small smile was playing at the corner of Riley's mouth. "How long's it been? Since you played, I mean?"

Andy thought about it. "_Really_ played? I don't even know," she finished with a short laugh.

He tossed back the rest of his wine and stood up. "Come with me."

"What?" Andy shook her head as he reached the back door and quickly pulled on his sneakers without untying them. "No way."

"Quit being paranoid. Just come with me." She glanced over her shoulder at the living room, then back at Riley. "They're going to be talking for a while. I promise you'll leave here in one piece. Probably." He turned around and walked out the back door.

And for some reason, Andy found herself standing up and following him out to the backyard. It was chilly and dark, but the backyard and driveway were both lit up with flood lights. They walked out to the garage, and Riley disappeared inside for a second, returning with a weathered basketball. He passed it to her, hard, and she caught it, feeling a familiar sting against her palms.

Andy ducked her head a little when the grin spread across her face. "I'm not doing this. It's late. We'll wake up your neighbors."

Riley was emptying his pockets. Wallet, car keys, cell phone all went in a pile in the corner of the paved driveway. Then he paced in front of the basketball hoop mounted on the roof of his garage. He waved at her. "It's not that late. C'mon. Just to eleven."

"Rebecca is going to be done any second."

Riley walked up and stood in front of her. "She'll come out when she's done, and you guys can go home. But trust me. You'll feel better if you_ just play me_." He said the last few words slowly with a challenging grin and Andy shook her head, biting back a smile. She tucked the ball under her arm as she walked to the edge of the driveway and set down her phone and house keys. Then, she started walking back, dribbling slowly as she approached. The moment before she was ready to take a shot, his hand snaked out and snatched the ball from her. Before she could even get the protest out, he'd spun around and taken his shot, sinking it effortlessly.

"High school basketball?" Andy asked peevishly when he turned around.

His grinned back at her. "University too. I'm not gonna go easy on you."

She narrowed her eyes and pulled the hair binder from around her wrist, tying up her hair. "Good. More fun when I beat you."

* * *

><p>When Andy finally let herself into her house that night, she relocked both deadbolts, reset the alarm and then walked quietly to the bathroom. She left her sweaty clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor and stepped into the hot shower. She would be sore the next day, no doubt about that. She'd gone for a run here and there when she'd felt like it, but nothing as strenuous as a one-on-one game. And Riley was better than she'd guessed; she'd had to work for every point. By the time Rebecca came out to collect her, he was up by four and Andy made her wait until the last point was scored. And then she'd left, completely worn out, with a set of sore feet and an open invitation to use the hoop whenever she wanted. Again, she wasn't sure she'd be taking him up on the offer, but the feeling she had now, like she'd stolen a bit of herself back…it was heady. Addictive.<p>

When the shower was over, she stepped out, wrapped a clean towel around herself. She walked up to the mirror and used her hand to wipe away the condensation. At the first smear, she caught a glimpse of the smile on her face, and it made her grin even wider. After a few of seconds of staring at herself, at the girl she'd been hoping was still in there somewhere, Andy cleared the rest of the mirror, then brushed her teeth.

She fell into bed maybe twenty minutes later, after drying off and combing out her hair. Tonight she skipped through the pictures, moving right to the one of Sam. For the first time in a long time, with the bargain with Stone still fresh in her mind, and the heaviness in her chest a little lessened, she smiled at the picture. Brody pushed the door open and took two steps and leapt up, pushing himself into a tight knot, butted up against the backs of her thighs. And then Andy turned off the lamp and pulled the duvet up to her chin. It was the first time she'd gone to bed happy in months.

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday, April 12<strong>

Sam let the elevator doors close behind him, then jabbed at the button for the first floor and sagged against the wall. He took a deep breath and ran a hand over his head, feeling the wave of exhaustion hit him. Though he tried to prepare himself, to steel himself against it, each session with Dr. Curtis seemed to end the same way lately. He'd start in the chair across from her. He'd pace, and argue, and finally end up staring out her window at the street below. He'd watch the people come and go from the building, scurrying around across the road, on the sidewalks. And though he resisted, inevitably, she pulled bit after bit of information out, twisting it and contorting the facts until he felt he had to "set her straight." Which of course, lead to him practically spilling his guts, telling her far more than he intended each time. At this point in the game, he wasn't sure how much he had left inside him, and how much he'd given to her.

This last hour had been particularly difficult. Though they always began with the job, with the interaction with his new partner and his other coworkers, they always managed to get around to Andy. And it was strange, because even though it was still so hard to talk about her, some days it actually helped in the end. Everything Andy was all jumbled together, a mish-mash of intense, confused emotion; all guilt and anger and love and desolation. Up until now, he'd tried practically everything. He'd let the loss level him for months, sinking him down into a sort of catatonia that eventually morphed into an unbending rage. And then, he'd pushed it away, pushed_ her_ away into a tight dark corner in his mind; only letting her out in small bits and pieces so the hurt couldn't break him anymore. And for the last few weeks, that had been working. He'd wake up in the morning, get ready for work, do his job, and come home again. Fully functional, but still, feeling like only like a fraction the man he used to be. The shrink was helping with that. She was unraveling all the individual strands, bringing him almost to pieces each time they sat down, but it was working; it was straightening him out. Usually, he left still feeling a little undone, somewhat lost inside his own head. It was only later, when he'd had time to process that things seemed to smooth out, to get more clear.

But today… It'd been rough. She'd asked him about his plans, what he'd been thinking about, and what he wanted for his future. And he hadn't even... He'd been so deeply entrenched in the present and the past, so fully committed to solving this case _now_, and dedicated to getting Andy back, that he hadn't really given a whole lot of thought to how this case had altered his plans for the future.

It wasn't like he'd ever spoken to Andy about it. Sure, they'd mentioned a couple of things, but nothing long term. In fact, that had basically been the whole point. To live those three weeks, to make them count; and the thinking and the planning, that could wait. But the wheels had been turning for Sam that whole month; probably even before that, if he were honest with himself. His feelings for Andy had been allowed to build for nearly two years. It was no surprise that once or twice, he'd let himself imagine an armful of tiny dark-haired, dark-eyed babies, let himself imagine Andy nestling up against his side for longer than a few months, longer than a few years. He'd sort of gotten used to the idea. And up until very recently, it hadn't even been a question for him. No matter what, she'd come back, and they would… They'd _get_ there. Eventually.

In truth, he hadn't known what to tell the doctor. Personally or professionally. He'd stepped back from Guns and Gangs because of his relationship with Andy, but if he accepted that she was really gone, there was nothing saying he couldn't go back. If he wanted to, that is. But he wasn't sure about any of it; not about his desire to do the job, and definitely not about accepting Andy's disappearance from his life. Basically, until he figured it out, he was treading water. And to Dr. Curtis' obvious surprise, he'd flat out admitted it. He'd admitted that he had no idea what he was going to do, had absolutely no concrete plans for his future. He couldn't even imagine what life would be like, long term, without Andy in it; didn't _want_ to imagine. Not as long as there was even the faintest glimmer of hope.

But now, with so many things up in the air, with her so far away for such a long time, he was feeling doubt. And doubt was worse than the sadness and the anger, because doubt felt a lot like giving up.

The elevator dinged, and his eyes opened and focused on the petite redhead standing at the opening, her hands on her hips and toe tapping rapidly in irritation.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Sam stepped out and walked past her, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I had a meeting. Run out of paperwork?"

She fell into step beside him and they walked back into the squad room. "I actually finished fifteen minutes ago, thank you very much. But, listen. I got a call."

Sam moved up to the coffee cart and pulled a cup off the stack. He reached for the carafe and filled his cup, lifting it away at the last possible second. His eyes cut to hers. "Who was it?"

Green held his eye for a long second and she arched a single slim brow. "It was one of my guys. The one from the grocery store. Remember him?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and thought back. The day they'd gone around to all the CI's was a blur. They'd spoken to a couple dozen people, flashed pictures all over town at so many different places. At the time, the big winner for him had been that kid in the gas station, but he had a quick flash of a small bald man in a green apron with shifty eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, unpacking cases of spaghetti sauce in aisle four.

He nodded. "Yeah. I think. What about him?"

Green gave him a pleased nod. "He's got something for us. Well, something for you. About Malone."

* * *

><p>"Go over it one more time," Jerry said, stacking the file folders together and tucking them under his arm. "I want to make sure I've got it straight before we go in there." He turned toward the parade room and Sam and Piper filed in behind him.<p>

Sam cleared his throat, trying to slow the rapid-fire beating of his heart. "One of the delivery guys has been covering a different route for the last month or so, but he showed up today, this guy showed him the pictures, and he recognized Malone. Said he'd seen him at the bar the last two nights. Both times, he went straight to the counter, talked to the bartender for a while and left."

"And this is the same bar you worked undercover? Where you met Warren and the Malones?" Jerry asked, his voice tense as he glanced back over his shoulder and walked quickly around the edge of the room. He reached the stairs and hustled up, and Sam and Piper followed, hands skimming the railing.

"Yeah. They used to stop in almost every night. The bartender's friends with Malone, and he was one of Warren's regular customers."

Jerry paused, hand on the door. "You know, we talked to that guy. The bartender. When everything first went down, and then when you got that tip about Malone being back in the area. He swore he hadn't had any contact with him."

"Maybe he hadn't," Green said simply, giving him a shrug.

Jerry blinked at her and then looked back at Sam. "And this guy? The guy who saw him, he thinks he's going back?"

"The delivery guy said he was sitting right at the bar and overheard their conversation. Malone's looking for cash. Sounds like whatever he can get his hands on."

Jerry took a deep breath, jaw tight as he considered it. "We'll probably only get one try at this."

Sam nodded. "I know."

Barber nodded back. "Well, the room's all set up, everything's ready." He glanced over his shoulder at the parade room full of people. "And it looks like everyone's here. So, let's do this." He turned the knob and Green took a step forward, ready to follow him in, and Barber froze. "Not you, though."

"What?" she asked sharply, face soured in a frown. "Why not?"

Jerry shot Sam a look. "You want to explain it to her?" When Sam gave him a nod, Jerry stepped into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Sam looked at her, even as he sidled around to the entrance. "Look, we've all been working this thing for a long time now. It's strictly need-to-know and we have enough people on it." He spotted Noelle down on the main floor, just sitting down at a desk. "Go talk to Williams; she'll find something to keep you busy for the rest of shift." He turned to leave and then stilled as she reached out and grabbed him, cool fingers sliding against his forearm.

"Swarek, wait." She leaned a little closer and gave him a cold warning look; eyebrows sky high, facial muscles hard with barely restrained anger. "I helped you with this. This was my tip. You wouldn't know anything if it wasn't for me." Sam looked down at her nails biting into the skin of his arm and instantly, she relaxed her hand and pulled it back, face slackening in apology. "Look," she said, lowering her voice. "I earned a spot on this. This could be big for me. I mean…" She glanced around the room, sort of covertly, like she was sharing a secret. "I mean, it would help me out here, if I had this case under my belt."

Sam hesitated, only for a second. She was right. Doing her part to help bring in Malone, and Bishop as a result, would do great things for her at 15. It hadn't escaped his notice that she wasn't exactly fitting in. As vocal as she was with him, he didn't see her taking time out of her day to converse with many others; or maybe they weren't taking the time to converse with her. He wasn't really sure. Her interactions with the rookies were short, her conversations with the other TO's even more brief. If was a tough place to be, not really a rookie, not quite a senior officer. Even after her probation, she wouldn't have the seniority or the perceived experience of her peers. But he wasn't willing to risk this case to help her fit in; not if it wasn't absolutely necessary.

He shook his head. "I can't. I'm sorry." The door handle turned under his hand and he backed away from her into the room where Jerry was already addressing the task force.

She continued to glare at him through the window as the door swung shut, and then, he turned away, glancing back just once to see her stalk away. His mouth was suddenly dry as he tried to swallow down the heavy feeling of guilt that was starting to creep through his veins. He understood it, the feeling like she deserved it. In fact, he'd probably feel the same way, be just as angry at the dismissal. But there was no room for error. No time to make her understand the full gravity of the situation.

Sam shoved his hands into his pockets, resigned to being the bad guy for the moment and leaned a hip on the edge of a table at the back of the room.

"So, here's how we're going to do this," Jerry was saying, eyes traveling over the small group of people perched on chairs and tables around him. "Malone was spotted the last two nights inside this bar." He tapped a photo of the establishment that was taped to the board. "He stayed long enough to drink a beer and talk to the bartender and then he was gone." Jerry pointed to two places on the map of the neighborhood. "We'll have a couple people in an empty second floor apartment across the street, and few more in a van down the block and around the corner. Inside, we'll have Boyd's undercovers."

Sam's eyes shot to the front corner of the room. Three very average looking men in their thirties to forties sat comfortably near each other. Two of them looked vaguely familiar, but the third was Jay, the guy who'd worked the hooker detail with Peck and McNally all that time ago. Sam frowned.

"What about me?" he asked loudly, interrupting Jerry's next sentence. "I'd be a familiar face. I could keep him talking, give everyone time to get in place for the arrest."

"Or you'd spook him," Boyd said from his position, leaning against the wall near the whiteboard. "Kind of a coincidence, you being there. You know?"

"The guy trusts me-"

"The guy _did_ trust you," Jerry interrupted. "Now he doesn't trust anyone. Boyd's right."

"Well, I want someone I know in there. Someone I can count on."

"Like who? Everyone here already has a place to be," Boyd spat out, not really mad, not yet. There was an uncomfortable shifting as everyone glanced around at everyone else and Barber and Boyd whispered a word to each other. Then help came from an unexpected corner.

"I'll do it." Sam's eyes shot over to Peck who was sitting sort of by herself, off to the side of the room. She raised an eyebrow. "I could go in as one of their dates."

Boyd snorted. "Like you'd ever go out with any of them." He glanced over at three unshaven men, at their nondescript clothing. "No offense, guys." They shrugged and made the appropriate dismissive noises.

And then Barber nodded, looking at Peck. "He's right. And you'd stand out in a place like that. You'd be made in minutes."

"What about me?" Shaw asked. Sam looked over. Oliver was less than three feet from him, and as he met Sam's eyes, he gave him a quick nod. "I could go in with one of them. Just another set of eyes." Sam gave him a small smile of thanks.

And at the front of the room, Jerry paused, eyes traveling between Oliver and Sam, and after a long moment of silent communication between the three, he nodded. "Yeah, that could work. We'll put you with Jay."

"But that means we're one short on the street," Boyd argued, pushing off the wall. "We can't start changing things now. We need that extra person."

A flash of red out the window caught his eye and he glanced over, saw Green talking with Williams near the guardrail. Her eyes flicked through the window, moved over the people in the room, and then met his. Her face twisted into an angry stare as she saw him looking at her, and she turned her back towards him in a pointed "fuck off."

"What about her?" Sam asked, jerking his chin towards her.

Everyone turned to look.

"Green?" Jerry asked, brows up in surprise. Sam nodded. Jerry leaned a hip on the table behind him, ran his free hand over his jaw considering it. Then he shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. She knows about Malone?"

"Enough to ID him."

"Sammy…"

"She'll be fine," Sam snapped, frustrated at the sudden lack of faith in his judgment. "And she's good. If we need another body, she's a decent choice." Jerry was still hesitating. "Or maybe Nash would like to –"

"Okay then," Barber relented, giving him a tight smile. "Green it is. You're in charge of her. Go bring her up to speed. Everyone else…" He turned back to the group. "Get ready. We start setting up in an hour."

* * *

><p>Four hours later, Sam, Jerry and Piper were all dressed in civvies, packed into the back of a dark green panel van. Audio from the wired-up undercover operatives had been feeding into the receiver for the last ninety minutes, and Sam reached across Jerry and flipped quickly through the channels. Each of the four of them had entered the building at a different time, were sitting in different areas, but all they were getting was background noise. The bar was busy. The times Sam had been inside, he'd generally left after his targets left, usually before eleven. But even at that time, he'd had to squeeze out between patrons. Every now and again, he glanced out the back window of the van to see another few people wander inside. The last two nights, Malone had been spotted well after midnight, and though they still had another hour or so until the clock ticked over, with all the activity, he was getting anxious, nervous that they wouldn't see Malone until he was right there, or worse, until he was on his way out. Sam rubbed his hands over his thighs, fingers pressing hard against the muscle, trying to expel some of the adrenaline.<p>

"Here," Jerry said quietly, passing him a paper bag. Sam took it from him, dug around inside and started pulling out sub sandwiches. He glanced at labels and passed them out, keeping the pastrami for himself. Green took hers without a word, without even a glance. Since he'd called her into the room to give her a very basic briefing, she'd been short with him. He wasn't really expecting a verbalized "thank you" or anything, but some shred of gratitude wouldn't have been out of order. Instead, she was oscillating between hostility and cool indifference.

Sam gave Jerry the Italian, then dug around one last time for the fistful of napkins that had been shoved in the bottom of the bag. He handed those out and then grabbed his sandwich, ripping into the wrapper quickly, showering the floor of the van with a spray of shredded lettuce.

Green rolled her eyes, but Jerry glanced at him, gave him a nod. "Relax. We've still got a lot of time to wait."

Sam nodded and took a bite. He chewed and swallowed, washing it down with a sip of Coke. Then he nodded one more time. "Yeah. I know." He looked down at the food in his hand, held it up to take another bite. And then, before he did, he mumbled, "It just seems like this is our last shot, you know?" It was something he hadn't been expecting to admit, mainly because he was afraid that if he actually said it, that it might really be true. But he didn't see any way around it. After all this time, the fact that they were even sitting surveillance, were still getting tips at all… It was a miracle.

Jerry was watching him carefully, but after a beat, he nodded, looking down at the floor. "Yeah. I'm getting that feeling too."

"Why's that?" Green asked, pulling the pickles out of her sandwich and popping them into her mouth.

Jerry took a second, gave Sam a reproachful look, clearly disappointed in his half-assed briefing attempt. Then he narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at Piper. "We've been after this guy for months. The tip said he was in here, trying to borrow money. It's a sure bet he's headed out of town again. Probably for good. At the very least, he's a witness to a murder and an attack on two police officers. And he might know where Bishop and Allen are. If we miss him….that's it. They all go free. Weston too."

"Won't they come back?"

Sam shook his head. "People are searching for these guys all over the place. If we were gonna find them, we would have by now. And my guess…" He folded his arms over his chest. "I think they're gone. If we can't get anything out of Malone, that's it."

Green frowned. "What about Weston? He's gotta know."

Sam snorted. "He's been one step ahead of us the whole time. If you think you can get your hands on him, go for it. Besides, that guy would never talk. Not in a million years. If we ever arrest him, he knows he'll be in prison until the day he dies."

"You don't think they'd deal him out for information on Bishop?"

"No," Sam said.

"But, I mean…"

"I won't let that happen," Sam snapped, eyes jumping to hers then falling away after a moment.

Green's eyebrows drew together. "I don't understand. I thought your undercover work was about Bishop. Isn't _he_ your focus?"

"He was," Jerry said, eying Sam carefully. "Until the thing at the hospital."

"What thing?" Green's eyes shifted rapidly between the two of them and when Sam didn't answer, when he dropped his eyes, and took another bite, Jerry cleared his throat.

"One of the cops that was attacked? The witness? She was Sammy's partner." Jerry corrected, giving her a weak smile. "The Malones broke into her place the next day, tried to kill her, and then just a few hours after that, Weston got to her in the hospital. Almost finished the job."

For a second, Sam felt a short burst of anger, at Bishop and Weston, and even at Jerry for sounding so casual about the whole thing. He glanced out the back window, suddenly ready to move, eager to be anywhere but where he was. Somewhere where he could _do something_.

"Hey," Green said, and Sam turned his head and looked at her. It was the first time since he'd brought her on board that she'd spoken to him directly, deliberately. The tension in her face and in her posture had sort of leached away, and for a split second, her eyes flicked down to his hands, and he followed her gaze. His fingers were clenched tightly around the sandwich wrapper, crushing it into a tiny crumpled ball. He relaxed his hand, then tipped it, letting the wrapper fall into the open bag. Green made a noise, quietly clearing her throat to bring his attention back to her. "You could have just said something, you know," Green said in what was essentially a loud whisper, looking at him pointedly, her brown eyes wide and eyebrows arched.

"Actually," Sam replied as he eyed Jerry angrily. "That information was supposed to stay within the task force."

Jerry shook his head quick, sucking a bit of mustard off the tip of his thumb. "Hey, _you_ brought her into this. She's gonna work Malone, she needs to have the facts." Sam didn't say anything. There were a few long uncomfortable moments of quiet where Jerry busied himself adjusting knobs on the receiver and Sam leaned his head back against the wall of the van. His eyes opened in slits and he saw Green looking back and forth between him and Barber, sort of like she wasn't sure if she should say something, or wait for one of them to break the silence. But in the end, her curiosity won out and she took a sip of her water and spoke.

"So, how long were you partners?" she asked, all weirdness and bad feelings forgotten for the moment.

Sam closed his eyes and pretended she hadn't said anything.

"Almost two years," he heard Jerry reply, and Sam turned his head and glared at him.

"Shut up, Jer." He sat up on the bench seat and reached for a pair of headphones.

He held them up to one ear, and though he was trying to ignore them, he heard Jerry speak again.

"She was his rookie."

Sam whipped the headphones down and stared at him, openmouthed.

"What?"

"I'm serious. Shut the fuck up."

Jerry put up his hands and slid back in the seat, lips drawn together in a silent whistle. Sam shook his head in a sort of helpless exasperation, once more brought the earphones up, and then leaned over, forearms braced on his knees. For five minutes or so, it was mostly just background noise. Every now and again, one of the three wired UC operatives would whisper something, some sort of update on positioning, on suspicious characters in the place. Sam only heard from Shaw when he got up and made his way across the room to check out the restroom. But no one had spotted Malone.

"It makes sense, you know," Green said, and Sam raised his eyes from the floor to her. She too had a pair of earphones on her head, one side on, one side pushed forward a little so she could hear conversation inside the van. "I mean, she was your rookie. It makes sense that you'd feel protective, or you know…responsible for her."

Sam rolled his eyes. "It doesn't matter, okay?" he muttered, just wanting her to move past it. He was pretty sure she wouldn't be letting the subject go any time soon, but he'd be damned if he was going to make it easy on her. He heard her draw in a breath, glanced over and found her watching him with obvious concern on her face. And then, in his headphones, he heard a brief burst of static and a second later, Jay's voice.

"Hey, some big guy just went out the back."

Sam froze and his eyes flew to Jerry's.

Jerry grabbed the mic. "Was it Malone?" he asked, voice clear and firm.

"I don't know, man. It's packed in here. Coulda been."

And with that, Sam leaned forward and hit the latch on the rear door. As it swung open and he jumped out, he heard Green say, "Got him," and when he took off down the block, he heard her foot falls coming quickly behind him. They sprinted down the block and then turned the corner and turned one more time down the alley. At first, Sam didn't even see the guy. He was dressed normally, jeans and a leather jacket, but had a ball cap pulled low over his eyes. And he was just standing behind the dumpster maybe six feet from the back door of the bar.

But they hadn't come up on him quietly, and as the guy heard the sound of rapidly advancing footsteps, he glanced up and then he rabbited. It was like one instant, he was statue-still, and the next, he'd done a 180 and was moving away from them. But he was too slow, or maybe Sam had just picked up enough momentum, because he reached him only seconds later. He grabbed the back of his jacket with both hands and yanked, hauling him off his feet.

The guy hit the ground solidly on his side and as he groaned, Sam reached down and whipped the cap off and froze. Green crouched down next to him, breath coming hard and fast as she looked down at the guy and then back at Sam.

"That's not him," she said, the surprise evident in her tone. Still, Sam didn't move. He was staring at the guy; at the _kid_, really. Malone was around thirty; this kid was nearly ten years younger. Though he had looked the right size, Sam's fists clenched in the leather of his jacket confirmed that most of the bulk was layers of clothing. Green was right. It wasn't Malone. Not even close. But the knowledge didn't stop the adrenaline from coursing through him, and it took him another few seconds to take a breath and get to his feet, cursing loudly in frustration.

He left Green on the ground next to the guy and stalked away, then back again; basically pacing in a large endless circle. He ran his hands up through his hair and then laced his fingers behind his head, getting ready for the meltdown he felt coming on. It was like he couldn't even push it down, didn't even have the will to suppress it. But in the end, it never came. It just grew and grew and then…it started to fade. After a minute or so, he stopped walking and tipped his head up to the sky and breathed, feeling the fire as it ebbed, as it leaked away, leaving only the emptiness of disappointment and frustration.

"You okay, Swarek?" Green asked, her voice professional, clipped.

Still, he just breathed, waiting for the heavy weight of defeat to settle in; somehow feeling like once it came, he could relax again. Until then, it was just a sick sort of anticipation.

"Sam?"

This time, there was a slight tremor in Green's voice and he opened his eyes and looked at her. She'd picked the guy up off the ground, had him up against the wall, palms on the brick face and she was patting him down. But she was staring directly at Sam. His arms fell like dead weight to his sides and suddenly his body felt heavy; shoulders, arms, legs…all encased in cement as he considered moving. Finally, he sucked in a breath and let the loss fill him. It wasn't pleasant, but it was workable; it was familiar, easy. He took a step towards Green, exhaling loudly as he drew near.

"You okay?" she asked again quietly.

He gave her a quick distracted nod. "He got anything?"

She tossed a small plastic bag at him. Inside were half a dozen pills; Vicodin by the look of them.

He cursed. "Waste of time."

"What should we do with him?" she asked. "We leave him here, he'll be back inside telling everyone in a second." She glanced around and Sam realized that for the first time since he'd met her, she was nervous. "And we need to get out of here before we blow this whole thing."

He nodded. "Call Barber." He put a hand firmly against the kid's shoulder, holding him in place as Green dragged a walkie out of her pocket.

"Yeah, we're going to need you to get a car over here."

A bit of static, and then Jerry came over the radio. "Is it Malone?"

"Nope. Just some idiot with some painkillers. No prescription," she finished lamely, rolling her eyes at Sam. His mouth turned up briefly in a humorless smile.

"Bring him out to the street. I'll get someone down there to pick him up. Is everything okay?"

Green looked at Sam, finger off the push-to-talk button. "I don't know. Is everything okay?" she asked one last time, eyebrows up.

He met her eyes and then after a moment, nodded again. "Yeah. I'm good."

She depressed the button on the side of the walkie, still watching him carefully. "Everything's fine. Meet you on the street."

She shoved the radio back into her pocket and cuffed the kid, then pulled him away from the building. Between the two of them, they walked him down the length of the alley and emerged on the street just seconds before a cruiser pulled to a stop in front of them.

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Five Minutes Earlier<strong>

Chris Malone took one last drag of his cigarette and then dropped it, crushing out the cherry with his heel as he hit the alley. His car was parked a few blocks down, and he was taking his time, walking slowly. He pulled the disposable cell from his pocket and dialed the number to the bar. It rang four times before it was picked up by the bartender.

"Hey, man, it's me. You have that money for me?"

In the background, Malone could hear random music and voices strung together in an almost deafening cacophony of sound. Wincing, he held the phone away from his ear for a second, and caught the voice of his friend. "Look, I can't get away right now."

"I'm coming in the back. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"No!" Malone paused. In fact, the sudden panic in the bartender's voice made him stop dead in his tracks. "You can't come in here tonight, man. The cops are all over this place." Malone glanced around. He'd been walking straight down the middle of the alley; he still had another couple of properties to pass before he came to the back door of the bar. But instead of continuing, he took a few steps to his right and ducked into the shadows behind a small storage building.

"What do you mean the cops are there?" he hissed. "Did someone call them?"

"I swear I have no clue, man. But they don't look like they're leaving any time soon. You can't come here."

Malone leaned back against the building, jerking in surprise when the metal creaked under his weight, but he tipped his head back and exhaled loudly. His mind was running over it all, over the events that had led him up to this point, to his plans. Then he brought the phone back up to his ear and pushed off, walking quickly down towards the bar.

"Look, just bring it out to me. I'll wait at the back door. You won't even be gone a minute." But as he walked up, as he stepped up to the edge of the property, he heard voices. Under the yellow floodlight, he saw movement, and ducked into a recessed doorway, leaning around the edge to see what the commotion was. "I'll call you back," he said quietly, and turned the phone off, shoving it into his pocket as he saw three figures beginning to move.

All were dressed in dark clothes; one of them, the larger of the three was circling, looking like he might explode at any second. There was a smaller one, slim wearing a black ball cap with a fiery red ponytail sticking out the back, and she was pressing a third figure up against the wall, his arm twisted behind his back as she ran her hands into his pockets. Cops, for sure. Malone leaned back as he felt his heart beat nearly out of his chest. Instinctively, he patted his jacket pocket, pulling out his cigarettes, but he couldn't light one, not yet.

"You okay, Swarek?" he heard a light voice ask. He leaned forward, saw the small woman jerking her chin at the larger figure. "Sam?" The man walked over to her, and they must have had some sort of conversation, because soon, the woman pulled a radio from her pocket, and spoke into it, calling for a car. The two figures spoke again, voices too low for Malone to hear and then, they each put a hand on the third figure and started propelling him back out of the lot, pushing him past the doorway where Malone was slunk back into the shadows. It wasn't until they passed that he got his second shock of the night.

The cop, the man… He recognized him. He'd worked alongside him for weeks; had even considered calling him for help when he'd returned to town desperate and broke a month before. Lee Schofield. A cop. He scrubbed a hand over the back of his head, breath coming hard and fast as his heart pounded in his ears. Then, he pulled out his phone again. He hit the call button twice, redialing the bar, and leaned around the doorway, watching as Schofield, or Swarek, as the woman called him, handed the third person into the back of a black and white.

Again, the bartender answered the phone, this time on the second ring.

"Yeah."

Malone shook out a cigarette as he watched them head away from him, back down the street. "Look, I need that money. I gotta get out of town. Tonight. Just walk to the back door and drop it behind the dumpster. I'll pick it up and you won't have to worry about it again." There was a burst of noise and then a word of agreement.

"You leaving right now?"

Malone leaned back against the wall, lit the end of the smoke, then took a long drag before answering. "Soon. I have to go back to my old place and grab some stuff. Then I'm out of here." He heard a creak of a door and glanced over, saw a tall man with a long dark pony tail wearing an apron, cradling a cordless telephone against his ear. As he watched, the guy scanned the empty alley, then with a flick of his wrist, tossed a small brown package behind the dumpster before retreating back into the building. "Listen, thanks man. I appreciate it. I'll pay you back when I get where I'm going."

"No problem. Take it easy." He hung up then, no goodbye. Malone pushed the phone into his pocket, and once more, glanced around before heading over to the dumpster at a slow jog. He grabbed the stack of cash wrapped in a brown paper sack and shoved it into his pocket and then went back the way he came. It took another fifteen minutes before he reached his car, and he slid inside, eyes moving over the bags stacked in the back, nearly everything he owned in the world. He pulled the car away from the curb and took off for the apartment.

* * *

><p>It didn't take him long to get there, and when he looked up at the window from the street, he saw it was dark. Sasha was never home at this time of the night. Either she'd be working or partying, but even so, he needed to get in and get out before anyone realized he was there. He got out of his car and tugged his canvas jacket tighter around his body, pulling the watch cap down over his ears and forehead. The entire way across the street, up the stairs to the apartment door, he was praying that she hadn't changed the locks. He could probably force his way in, either through the door, or through the fire escape, but it would be easier if his key worked.<p>

Malone hit the second floor quickly, his footfalls quiet on the faded, worn carpeting. And he almost stopped, almost turned to leave when he saw the small figure unlocking the apartment across the hall. But she looked over at him. He didn't know if she recognized him; in fact, by the glazed look in her eyes, he wasn't sure she really even saw him. There wasn't a smile, no flicker of recognition. She just opened her door, walked inside and slammed it behind her, flipping the lock. He let out a nervous breath and then strode over to apartment 14 and pushed his key into the lock.

It turned easily, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the door swung open revealing the small dark apartment. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him and flipped on the kitchen light.

He'd intended to just be in and out, but Sasha had moved some things around. His brother's stuff had all been packed into boxes, placed carefully into the hall closet. He had to dig through most of those until he found the things he'd been looking for. Family stuff, albums, papers, things that had been left behind in their haste to escape Toronto, things that would have been safer in this apartment. But since he wasn't planning on ever coming back, they needed to go with him this time.

Sasha had tossed most of his belongings. Most of his clothing was gone, his stereo, his television; all probably sold or given away. Anything that remained was stuffed into a corner, waiting to be carried out to the dumpster, and so he quickly sorted through it, stuffing a few large sweatshirts into a bag, an old quilt that had covered his bed from the time he was a child, a few CD's for the drive. He took two armloads out to the car, packed to the ceiling, and then he went upstairs for one last trip.

This time, he packed a grocery sack with food, dumping in anything non-perishable that he could eat on the road. He made himself a few sandwiches, tossed in half a dozen cans of Coke, half a dozen cans of beer. And finally, a little over an hour after he'd first unlocked the door, he stepped up to it once more, a duffel slung over his shoulder, food tucked under his arm, and grabbed the knob. When he opened it, when it creaked toward him, he froze, fear chilling him from head to toe as he caught sight of Jimmy Weston.

Weston was just standing there, hands behind his back, waiting. And then, slowly, his head came up, his eyes locked onto Malone's, and he smiled. A cruel, anticipatory smile that only widened when Malone took a step back, and then another, essentially giving him room to step into the apartment. As he entered the room, Malone's knees buckled a little and his duffel hit the ground. He shifted the food bag around, holding it in front of his body, the only thing between him and Weston. Again, he took a step back, eyes suddenly moving over the apartment, looking for a weapon, an exit, anything. The window to the fire escape was behind Weston, the window closest to the door, so that was out. And there were no baseball bats, no heavy implements of any kind. His gun was sitting in the glove box of his car, useless.

Malone clutched the paper bag to him and held up a hand. "Look, man. I'm leaving, I'm not telling anyone anything. Just let me go. You'll never see me again, I swear."

Weston shook his head. "Can't do that, kid." He reached behind him, pulled the gun from his waistband. "You know how this goes."

Malone shook his head rapidly, waved his hand. "No. No, wait. I have information. If you let me go, I'll tell you what I know."

Weston smirked, a short laugh blew out of his mouth. "Tell me what you know, and I'll decide if it's good enough." When Malone hesitated, Weston lifted the gun, pointed it at his head and released the safety. "Let's hear it."

Every muscle in Malone's body was trembling, the fight-or-flight response making him jerk in response to every sound, to every movement. He jerked his chin and sucked in a deep breath.

"Lee."

"Who?"

"That guy that worked with us in the warehouses? Schofield?"

Weston gave a short nod, though he had a look of controlled confusion crossing his face. "What about him?"

"He's a cop."

Weston hadn't been expecting that. In fact, the grip on his gun wavered, for just an instant. And then he lowered it, inch by inch until his arm hung at his side. "You're sure?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "He was working us?" Malone nodded. Weston raised the gun, used it to scratch the side of his head as he turned away, paced a few steps, thinking it over. He shot him a look out of the corner of his eye. "You know anything else?"

Malone shifted the bag in his arms, took another breath. "I got a name."

"Let's hear it."

Malone shook his head. "No way. Not until I'm in my car, driving away. I'll call you when I get on the road."

For a long moment, Weston just stared at him, and then, the tension in his face seemed to recede, and he nodded, gave him a quick smile and a nod. "Alright." He stepped out of the way, held out an arm, gesturing toward the door. Keeping an eye on him, Malone reached down, heaved up the duffel, dropped it onto his shoulder, and side-stepped around him, out the door. Then he moved quickly, booking down the hallway, even as he heard the apartment door swing shut behind Weston; as he heard his footsteps heavy on the stairs behind him.

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>The Next Morning<strong>

"Swarek," Frank said. "Have a seat." Still a little wiped out from the operation the previous night, Sam took him up on that, sinking almost gratefully into one of the chairs. "How's it going?" Both the question and the tone were casual, but there was no mistaking the pointed look in Frank's eyes.

"Better, sir," Sam said, honestly. "Last night wasn't…." He drew a breath in through his nose and nodded once. "It didn't go the way we'd hoped. Malone never showed. We're going back tonight. Different guys inside."

"Sounds promising."

Sam gave him a tight smile. "Glad someone thinks so."

"Listen," Frank said abruptly, and Sam straightened a little in his seat at the change in his voice. "I called you in here, because Green's six weeks are almost up and I wanted to go over the evaluations with you." Sam didn't say anything; in fact, for the first time in a while, he felt somewhat nervous. After the hostility of their meeting, the stilted uncomfortable patrols, and especially after his proud moment the night before, he really had no clue what to expect. "Anything to add to Green's?"

He'd filled hers out the week before; a very bare bones, positive report of her skills, her work ethic. For a second, he considered adding a few notes, something to backup whatever excuses he was going to have to come up with to explain his behavior, but in the end, Sam shook his head. She'd been right the first day. She was a good cop; she knew the job. "No, it's all there."

"Alright." Best tucked the sheet of paper into a folder and then opened the second one sitting on his desk. "I had Green fill yours out this morning, and I have to say, it wasn't exactly what I was expecting."

Sam rubbed an anxious hand over his jaw and leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees. "Look, whatever she said, I can explain."

Frank's eyebrows went up. "Okay," he said slowly, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "Let's start with 'passionate about the job'. Response?" Sam looked at him for a moment, and then, a little surprised, shook his head mutely. "Alright," Frank said. "Moving on." He set the evaluation on the desk and tipped his chin down a degree, reading directly from it. "'Sam Swarek is not only dedicated to his work, but he feels a strong connection to cases and to the people involved. His diligence in seeing each case through is unyielding, and though his patience leaves much to be desired, he's incredibly focused and willing to share his knowledge and experience.'"

Frank scanned the rest of the page and then flipped it over. "She goes on for a while. It's extremely wordy. And a little unbelievable." He glanced over. "You look surprised."

Sam was basically in a state of shock. Of the dozens of things he could have imagined her saying about him, complaints she might make against him, he'd never considered that she might stick up for him. He forced out a short laugh. "Yeah, I guess maybe I am."

Frank sat back and tapped his finger against the sheet of paper once. "Are you saying that she lied?" He glanced down. "Are you or are you not 'committed to protecting the safety of victims and your fellow officers?'"

"No, I mean, I am, I just…" Sam shook his head. "I don't know."

Frank folded his hands on his stomach and looked at him and gave a small shrug. "Well, taking everything into consideration… Her evaluation, and the improvements I've seen in your work, I'm giving you a choice. I want you partnered. We can either go back and start from scratch, choose someone new, or you can ride with Green permanently."

Sam leaned back in his chair, crossed his ankle over his knee, and ran a hand over his face, still blown away by the turn the meeting had taken.

"What did she say?"

Frank gave him a tight smile. "She has a preference, but she said she'd go along with whatever you want."

Sam took a breath, waited for something inside him to protest, to balk at the idea, but it never came. Finally, after a minute or so, he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll work with her."

Best smiled at him, a wide pleased grin and he nodded. "Alright. Well, I think I'll let you tell her the good news. If you'll excuse me, I have to get ready to meet with some people from headquarters."

Sam nodded, though Frank's attention was already elsewhere, and stood up, moving to the door. When he exited, he instantly began scanning the squad room, looking for a familiar face, and finally, his eyes landed on her. She was directly below him on the lower level, had her bag hitched up on her shoulder, waiting for someone to give her an order.

"Green," he said firmly, walking along the railing. She jumped to her feet, met him at the foot of the stairs. He swung out an arm towards the exit. "Let's get out there."

She didn't even pause, just walked quickly past him, but not before he saw the tiny smile form on her lips. But she didn't say anything, didn't acknowledge it at all until they were buckled into their seats and she was pulling the car out onto the street. Even then she kept her eyes on the road, flipped on the blinker and merged into traffic, clearing her throat before finally speaking.

"Listen, I just want to thank you for, you know. Taking me on, or whatever." Sam nodded, keeping his eyes out the window, scanning the pedestrians on the sidewalk, the cars coming to a halt at stop signs.

Then Sam gave her a short nod. "Yeah, well, I figured I owed you. Since you backed me up last night. And you know, for not ripping me a new one in your evaluation."

He heard her take a breath, a deep one through her nose, and he glanced over. She was digging in her breast pocket, pulling out the packet of gum. After extracting a piece for herself, she handed it over, and after a split second's thought, he took it, pulled out his own piece and gave it back.

Green tucked it back into her pocket, smiled and then glanced over with a nod. "Well, what are partners for, right?"

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><p><strong>Thanks again for reading :)<strong>


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thanks to the usuals, but special thanks go to: this_moment_is_stardust for editing, icewitch73 for coaxing me through my many mental problems, to srsn for info on martial arts, and to giraffe for her wealth of knowledge about all things BC.**

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><p><em>Sam yawned as he turned the key in the ignition and flipped the heat all the way up, wincing a little as the initial blast of cold air blew up his pant leg. He glanced over at the station.<em>

_He hadn't really seen Andy all day, not since they'd split up after parade; she'd headed out with Diaz and he'd been shuttled off to Guns and Gangs. When he'd finished around lunch time, she hadn't been around. He'd hopped into a car with Peck, done a few hours of patrol, but she hadn't been back when they returned to do their paperwork. It was only when he was finally walking into the locker room after shift that he saw them both come through the door. And Andy…_

_She hadn't looked good. She'd passed by, barely even seeing him until he spoke her name. Even then, it took her a few seconds to find his eyes. She'd just shaken her head, said she'd meet him out in the parking lot in a flat, muted voice._

_That was where he was now. Sam checked the clock on the dash. He hadn't been waiting long, not more than a few minutes really, but it hadn't been an exceptionally easy day for him either. He was more than ready to go home and get off his feet for the night._

_Finally, five minutes later, he caught sight of her as she and Diaz pushed through the door, and parted halfway down the lot. When she opened the door and hauled herself into the truck, looking drained and guarded, he frowned._

"_You okay?"_

_She nodded, a short quick jerk of her chin. "Had a hard day." She didn't even glance his direction. "Let's go."_

_His brows drew together as he looked at her, but he threw the truck into reverse. By the time they got out onto the road, the heat was blasting full force; Sam unzipped his coat and pushed it open. Next to him, Andy was pulling off her mittens, unwrapping the scarf from around her throat and cramming it down into the space between her thigh and the console. She got her fingers on the radio, started flipping through the stations, quick, barely giving one more than a few seconds before switching to the next. Finally, she just gave up and spun the dial on the volume, cranking up some talk radio station. For a few minutes, Sam half-listened to someone drone on about the price of gas, and then he reached over and slapped the button, silencing it._

"_What's wrong?" He looked over, giving her a few short glances as he drove the truck through a green light. She had her coat open, but had her arms folded around her middle, sort of sagging back into the seat. _

_She gave her head a shake. "I'm just tired." _

_He didn't respond at first; didn't say anything. He just waited for Andy, eyes flitting back and forth between the road and her face. But after a minute or two, when she'd barely moved a muscle, when he could almost hear the wheels turning in her head, he reached over. He stroked a hand over the back of her head, sank his fingers into her hair at the back of her neck and gave it a gentle rub._

"_What happened today, Andy?"_

_She blew out a long, heavy breath and when she glanced over, he realized her eyes were wet, glittering with unshed tears._

"_Some people just…" She shrugged, biting off the rest of the sentence as she looked away. He was about to ask again, but she inhaled quickly and gave him a glance out of the corner of her eye. "Do you remember the Beljac case? That couple that was fighting right before the bust? We eventually arrested the guy for slapping his wife around?"_

_Sam made an apologetic face. "Vaguely." _

"_That night we took Melanie to a shelter. But when he got released, he called her and she went home with him."_

"_Okay…"_

_Andy shrugged again, picking at a loose thread hanging from the sleeve of her coat. "Well, that was almost two years ago. And she's still with him." She looked over. "He put her in the hospital today. Beat her half to death and then pushed her down the stairs. One of the other tenants found her and called 911." The silence stretched out in the car for a good thirty seconds before she took a shaky breath and continued. "We caught the guy just walking into the hospital, like he was going to go visit her, you know?" She pushed out a bitter laugh. "I mean, like after all that, he thought he could just go in and __**see**__ her. He almost killed her for Christ's sake."_

"_McNally." Sam looked over, but she wasn't paying attention. She had her eyes out the window, her hands flexing against her thighs as she replayed the whole thing in her head._

"_I just feel like I should have done something. I mean, I knew way back then that this guy would end up killing her if she stayed with him. Why didn't I do something?" She asked the question quietly, as she stared out onto the dark streets. It took Sam a few seconds to realize she wasn't talking to him. "I should have gone back. I mean, I should have, right? I should have checked in on her." She turned her head quickly, focused her eyes on him, waiting for him to agree._

_But Sam shook his head. "People gotta want to be helped, Andy. She knew her options. She was at the shelter, and she chose to go home with him."_

"_Yeah, but -" Her voice had a tremor, just a small one._

_He shot her a sidelong glance. "No. It's not your fault."_

"_God," Andy said, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. "You should have seen her." She sniffed. "Her face…" She sucked in a shuddery breath and turned away, presenting her back to him, like he couldn't see her swiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her coat. _

"_Andy." He reached over and laid a hand on her back, frowning when she stiffened slightly, sitting up a little straighter in her seat at the touch. But she turned and looked at him, eyes red-rimmed and weary, eyelashes stuck together in wet spikes. _

"_Can we just go home? I think I just want to lie down." _

_Sam swallowed hard but nodded. "Yeah." He gave her shoulder a squeeze and hit the gas a little harder. "Yeah, we can do that." He didn't ask her whose home she meant; it didn't really matter. The truck was already barreling towards his place; they were only a few blocks away. They hit the alley right before she turned to him again, got her elbow up on the console, her eyes lit with a weird light._

"_You know, maybe you should take me back to the hospital. I mean, her mom isn't going to get here until morning. She should have someone with her."_

_He shook his head, reaching over to slide his hand around hers. "They won't let you in to see her. Not out of uniform."_

"_But I have to do something."_

"_No." He said it firmly as he shook his head. He pulled the truck up into the driveway and put it into park, leaving the engine on. _

"_But-"_

"_No," he said again. He turned to look at her. "Andy, she has nurses and doctors looking out for her. You need to go inside and rest."_

"_I can sleep later," she muttered under her breath. She took a deep breath sat back hard in her seat, arms tucked tight against her chest. "I should have checked on her," she said again to herself. They sat there for another fifteen seconds or so, silent as Andy's brain went cycling into overdrive, and Sam wondered what he should do. Her shoulders sagged, her eyelids were drooping. She was exhausted. They both were. He shut the ignition off and pulled the key out of the car, spinning the ring on his finger out of habit, not even realizing he'd done it until her gaze shot to his hand._

_She set her jaw and then turned to him, eyes narrowed. "How do you do it? I mean, how do you just shut yourself off like that," she asked, looking at him like she really thought he had all the answers. "Noelle did it too, the last time I saw Melanie. She was just…" Andy's tongue flicked out and wet her lips as she searched for the word. "Unaffected. Like it didn't even faze her. How does that happen? At what point do you just stop caring?"_

_Sam took a deep breath, and grimaced. "You never stop caring, okay? But I've seen it before. Dozens of women just like her. Some take a chance and get out. Others don't," he finished simply. Andy closed her eyes, tipped her chin down. "Look," he said quietly. "Sometimes, no matter what you do, bad things happen. You can't fix everyone." She turned away and shook her head mutely, hair falling down in a curtain, hiding her face from him. He reached out and swept it back, tucking it behind her ear. "You gotta know when to give up."_

_She sucked in a harsh wet breath and shook her head. "No."_

_Then he leaned forward, got his hand up around her jaw, and tilted her face up to look at him. __"If you take this stuff too personally, it starts getting to you. You let it get to you, eventually it'll break you." She blinked at him. "Sometimes, you just have to accept that you've done your job, and there's nothing else you can do." he said quietly, stroking a thumb along the line of her cheekbone. But she pulled out of his grasp._

"_No." She glared at him then, silencing him. "I don't believe that. And neither do you," she added, looking at him in angry disbelief. "If you did, there's no way you would have agreed to go undercover in the first place."_

_Sam felt the muscles in his face tighten, felt himself tense up as he looked at her, trying to remind himself that she was upset. _

"_Andy, I tried to get out of it; it didn't work. What else do you want me to do? Quit?" He felt a tightening in his chest and was instantly sorry for the acid in his tone as she looked away, tipped her face up and blinked, trying to clear the tears that were forming. Then she inhaled deeply and looked at him._

"_I'm not mad you're going. I'm even…" She shook her head, eyes falling shut as she spoke, a tiny reluctant smile playing at the corner of her mouth. "I'm even __**proud**__ of you for going. But if there was no hope, if there was no chance of you doing good in this situation, you would have never signed up." She looked at him, eyebrows raised. _

_Sam tried to focus on the issue at hand and ignore the flash of warmth he felt at the thought of her being proud of him. He shook his head, giving her a tight smile. _

"_Andy, it's not really the same thing. This woman made a choice. She knew what could happen, and she rolled the dice. And you can't help someone who doesn't want it. Sometimes there's just nothing you can do," he said again._

_Again, she shook her head, more vehemently this time, picking up strength with every turn. "You're wrong." She grabbed her mittens and crammed them into her pocket and got her hand on the door. "There's always __**something**__ you can do," said icily. She was out of the truck in a heartbeat, flinging the door shut behind her, effectively silencing any argument in an instant. He stared after her, frozen in place as she stalked up the walk to the house, fingers digging her key out of her pocket. _

_He let her get all the way to the door, let her jam the key into the lock and fight with it a little. The key was brand new, still sharp, still sticky in the lock. As he got out and walked around the truck, duffel slung over his shoulder, he heard her curse softly as she twisted it, rattling the knob with each jerky turn. By the time he got up the steps, the fight had gone out of her. Her hands dropped away from the door and he gave the key a good strong turn, opening the door on the first shot, and then he stepped back, letting her in ahead of him._

_But she didn't walk through. Instead she took a deep breath, did a half turn and tipped her forehead down to his shoulder. Sam let the bag fall to the stoop and as the tip of her cold nose touched his neck, he put his arms around her, holding her tight against him. The weight of her, the softness of her hair under his chin, the sound of her breathing sort of thick and rough made his chest ache, made him want to do something himself. Something for Andy._

"_I'll take you," he said suddenly, voice quiet in the mess of her hair. She stiffened under his arms and then pulled back, tired eyes meeting his in surprise. "But I want you to eat first. And we're only staying an hour. No sleeping in the waiting room. No snacking out of vending machines. Okay?" Any longer, and he knew he'd never get her out of there._

_She hesitated, just for the briefest second and then nodded. "Okay." She turned away to walk into the house, and then thought better of it and spun around again, throwing her arms around his neck. He staggered back a step as her body hit his hard. "Thanks," she whispered against his ear. _

_He nodded, swallowing hard. Truthfully, he wasn't completely sure he was doing her a favor, giving in. She let go and was through the door, inside the fridge, making herself a sandwich before he could say anything else; faster than he could wrap his mind around it. The tears had stopped, her cheeks were dry and when she glanced over her shoulder, she even had a tiny smile for him. He mirrored it, but he couldn't help wondering what sort of expression she'd have on her face when they returned._

* * *

><p><strong>April 23 (Monday)<strong>

"Smell that?" Green asked as she and Sam walked through the small group of people gathered in the mall parking lot. He sniffed the air once and then gave a short nod. With the breeze blowing, the scent of decay was barely noticeable, but it was recognizable to those who'd experienced it before. Coming out on the other side of the crowd, Sam held up the crime scene tape and they both ducked under, catching sight of Barber amidst half a dozen or so people he didn't know, all standing at the rear of a rusted out brown Oldsmobile

Jerry had come barreling into the squad room, interrupting Sam and Green as they'd been working on paperwork. He'd gotten a call from 34 about a suspicious vehicle parked in the lot of the mall over in their part of town. Plates were missing, but the description matched that of Chris Malone's vehicle. The two of them had hopped into a squad car and followed him over to the scene, Sam's nerves working overtime the whole way. But the second they'd pulled into the parking lot and had seen the spectators gathered around, anticipation changed to foreboding and he realized more than anything, he just wanted to get this whole Malone thing sewed up. And though he knew what he was about to see, Sam still felt his heart pick up at the sight of the back seat, piled high with what appeared to be laundry, luggage and various other random bits of life.

"Security got a call this morning, about someone living in their car. They were going to just come out and scare the guy off, but got close enough and saw this," Jerry was saying as Sam and Green stepped up. He ran a hand down near the bumper, never touching the dark reddish-brown drops spotting the metal. "And then of course, they smelled it."

They'd had quite a few warm-to-hot days in the past few weeks, record breakers, in fact. Good for tourism, bad for bodies left to rot inside of abandoned vehicles. Now that they were up close, the odor was unmistakable.

"You open it up yet?" Sam asked gruffly.

"We were waiting for you," a new voice said, and they looked over at the balding, middle-aged detective walking over. He gave them all a nod and then his eyes settled on Green with a smile. "Piper Green, nice to see you on this side of town. Tell me you're coming back to us."

She gave him half a smile. "Sorry, Blakely. Just a tourist today. What've you got?" The guy she called Blakely waved in another uniformed officer holding a crow bar. In about ten seconds, the trunk sprang open and Sam had to take a step back as the hot stench of decomp hit him. There was a worn patchwork quilt laying over the contents of the trunk, stained brown with dried blood, and Blakely leaned forward and used the crowbar to lift it, giving everyone a view of what was underneath. Green actually leaned forward and got a good look before she turned suddenly ashen and had to move to stand upwind, back of her hand pressed up against her nose. "God, that's ripe."

Sam took a breath and moved towards it. The body was on its side, looking smaller than he remembered, shrunken. It was faced away from the opening, back to them, and he watched as Blakely reached in with a gloved hand, and snagged the wallet peeking out of the back pocket. He opened it carefully and waved Sam and Jerry over. The driver's license was stuck behind a little plastic window and as Sam peered at it, a younger-looking Chris Malone stared back out at him. He cursed and stepped back, nearly bowling over Green who was coming up behind him to see for himself.

"Well, that's good enough for me," Jerry said. "Sam?" They all turned to look at him, and he nodded.

"Yeah, me too." He looked back at Blakely. "When do you think you'll have an official ID, time of death?"

The man shrugged. "We're still waiting on CSU and the coroner. EMS is here to pronounce him, and then we can get started."

"EMS is here?" Green said suddenly, eyes hitting Blakely like daggers. Slowly, he arched an eyebrow and gave her a quick, short nod; like she should have known that. Green pushed out a bitter-sounding laugh. "I think I'll wait in the car," she said to Sam. "If you're not going to be long?" She didn't even wait for Sam's reply, just stalked away, pushing through the people separating her from the squad car.

Sam frowned after her and then turned back to Jerry. "You need us for anything else?" There were uniforms all over the place, controlling the crowd, taking statements. And for the first time since he'd started working the case, Sam felt absolutely no need to stay and assist. In fact, he was feeling a large push to get away, to distance himself from the scene, from the press of bodies and speculation. He wanted to be somewhere quiet where he could deal with this development in his own way.

When Jerry waved him away and turned back to Blakely, back to the body in the trunk, Sam didn't spare a second. After ducking once more underneath the tape, and weaving through the crowd of people, he emerged on the other side, reached the car and realized Green wasn't in it. He scanned the area, and then heard a shrill screech come from off to his left. He turned and saw her, standing maybe twenty meters away at the back of an ambulance talking to a short, slim man dressed in a dark blue uniform.

Talking wasn't actually the word for it though. As he walked over, he could hear them both, voices raised, arms flailing all over the place in wild gesticulations. He cleared his throat, once, then again, louder the second time. Green glanced over, two bright spots of pink rising to her cheeks, and her arms dropped to her sides. Sam missed the last little bit she tossed to the EMS guy before stalking away, but from the look on his face, it hadn't been polite. She strode over and then was past him, traveling quickly to the driver's side of the squad car.

"Keys," she snapped and Sam's eyebrows rose, but he tossed them to her, climbing into the passenger side without a word.

When she fired up the engine, the radio came on, volume cranked up like she'd left it when they arrived. It played for barely three seconds before she reached over and snapped it off, silencing it as she flew out of the parking space and exited the lot.

"Okay," Sam muttered, propping an elbow out the window. He glanced over. Green's face was tight, even more pale than usual, if that were possible. Her eyes were bright, flicking over the traffic, and she was blinking rapidly as her teeth worked hard at her lower lip. "So, that guy?"

"What about him?" she snarled.

"Uh…" She pulled the squad car onto the crowded highway, wove between SUVs until she settled into an open spot in the left lane. He took a breath; not really sure he even wanted to bring it up, but he'd already opened the door. "How do you know him?" he finished lamely,

"Oh, I was married to him," she replied flippantly, eyes flickering up to check her rearview. Sam's eyebrows shot up and then his eyes moved over to her empty left ring finger. "Still am, I guess. Technically," she muttered.

It took him a good thirty seconds for the shock to wear off and then he found his voice. "How long—"

"Long enough to regret it," she snapped, cutting him off.

"Okay…"

"Look," she said giving him a hard glare as she slowed the car to a crawl. "You've got things you don't like to talk about. So do I. Just leave it alone."

"Fair enough."

They sat stalled in traffic for another couple of minutes, then Green spat out, "Screw this," and flipped on the siren and the flashers. Sam kept his grin to himself. She got the car pulled out of the traffic jam and soon enough, they were cruising down the empty on-coming lane, around the mess of backed up cars. After they turned off onto a side street, she took her foot off the gas and they slowed to a normal speed.

Sam took a deep breath, letting the smells of spring in the city hit him as they drove back to 15. Green was still sitting bolt upright in the seat, mind obviously spinning around and around as her fingers drummed against the steering wheel. Every now and again, her mouth would twitch, like she was holding some imaginary conversation in her head. Sam frowned when he heard her sniff once, when he saw her eyes shine just a little wetter than they had a moment before. He looked away, giving her a second of privacy, a moment to pull her thoughts together, and then he cleared his throat.

"Guy seems like a prick," he said keeping his tone casual, sort of offhand, and then glanced over.

The corner of Green's mouth curved up once and then again in a small troubled smile, and she looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Thanks." She nodded. "He really kind of is."

He bobbed his eyebrows at her once and then looked away again. "No problem."

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p>Weston glanced around as he got out of his car and crossed the street, baseball cap shielding his eyes from the sun, his face from nosy neighbors. As he bounded up the steps to Sam Swarek's front door, he looked first to the doors on either side. Since he'd wrung the name out of Malone and left him in that parking lot, he'd been working on Swarek. It took a few days to find him; he hadn't been listed in any of the major directories, and it took several internet searches to find a newspaper article that gave his name and division number. After that, it'd been pretty simple to wait for him to exit the station and follow him home one night.<p>

He'd tried once before to get inside the house. Over the last week or so, he'd been keeping a pretty vigilant eye on Swarek, trying to pick up his schedule, his routines. The first attempt had been the day after he'd found him. Weston had waited until the cop left for work; waited a sufficient amount of time until he was sure he wouldn't be coming back for anything. And then, he'd advanced on the house. He'd been derailed by a stay-at-home mom, getting her kids ready and out the door for the school bus. She'd paused as soon as she'd seen him on the stoop, tried to get a good look at his face under the hat and the sunglasses, but hadn't recognized him. She had told him that Swarek was already gone for work; that when he worked days, he was up and out the door by 7AM. Which he already knew. But he feigned ignorance, then turned around and left. He'd given her a week to forget, and now he was back.

This time, he'd waited until Swarek and the neighbors on both sides had vacated the premises before advancing on the house; he didn't need some housewife picking out his mug shot any time soon. He pulled the flat case out of his pocket, removed a couple thin strips of metal and went to work on the lock. Within a minute, he was turning the knob, closing the door silently behind him. Inside the house, the blinds were all pulled, and the rooms were dark, but he didn't flip any switches. Instead, he pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket and turned it on, playing the beam over the shelves in the entry, over the dining room table as he progressed through the house. He'd already guessed from watching the man that the house would be clean, organized. He wasn't wrong. The chairs surrounding the table were all pushed in. No decorative bowl or plant sat on top; no dust-collectors took up space on the desk sitting against the far wall. He walked over to it, holding the end of the flashlight in his mouth as he picked up a large stack of mail in gloved hands. He flipped through it quickly, reading the return addresses for the cable and utility companies, a few credit card applications, something that looked like it could be a birthday card.

Unimpressed, he put the letters back where he found them, and moved to the drawers, picking through them, finding almost nothing of interest. Basic office supplies, some file folders holding tax information, pay stubs, bank statements. Out of random curiosity, he glanced at the available balances of the checking and savings accounts; his eyebrows lifted, and his lips pursed in a silent whistle. Made sense, considering the fact that Swarek had to be one of the most boring guys he'd ever tailed. The guy left at the same time every day, depending on his shift, came back at nearly the same time every night. Lights stayed on for maybe another hour or two, and then he went to bed. And then it was all repeated the next day. Days off seemed to consist of errands, groceries, hardware store, one day the post office, the next the bank. Last Saturday afternoon, two guys, probably more cops came around, spent a few hours and then left again. He'd definitely surveilled more difficult targets. Even the Malones had posed a bigger challenge.

Weston shut the file drawer a little hard out of frustration and glanced around, noticing the shredder on the floor. He gave it an irritated tap with his foot and then turned around, looking for something else to go through. He walked around the living room, picking up and setting down the remotes, thumbing through the spines of a stack of magazines, checking the titles, then moved on. He stopped and touched a picture hanging on the wall, straightening it ever so slightly. Then he wandered down the hall to the bedroom.

In there, he flipped the light on and did a quick visual scan. It was slightly messy compared to the rest of the house, a few articles of clothing and a towel flung over a chair sitting next to the window, closet doors just barely ajar; like possibly, Swarek had just given them a good swing on his way out of the room. The top dresser drawer was open an inch or so, and Weston glanced in, seeing nothing but cloth. He eased his hand inside and patted around, _felt_ nothing but cloth. The top of the dresser was strewn with refuse removed from pockets; old receipts, spare change, a few business cards. He walked over to the bed, sat down on blankets that had been hastily pulled up, and opened the drawer to the nightstand. He froze, hand halfway in. And then, as a smile wormed its way onto his face, he reached in, plucked out the photograph and stared at it, memorizing it.

Officer Sam Swarek, looking very much out of uniform, and next to him, much happier than the last time he'd seen her, was Officer Andy McNally, long limbs bare and bronzed in the glow of a lamp. He stared at the photo for another minute or so, and then pulled out his cell phone and snapped a picture of it. He tossed it back into the drawer, pushed it shut and hit speed dial #2 on the phone.

Allen answered on the fourth ring.

"You'd better have something for me."

Weston laughed softly. "Trust me. _This_ is something you have to see for yourself. Give me a second." He pulled the phone away from his ear and shot off a quick picture message. Then, he got back on the phone and waited until he heard Allen curse.

"Tell me that's not who I think it is."

"You believe in coincidences?" Weston joked as he stood, walked to the closet and pulled open the doors. The closet was well organized; button-downs hung together, pants creased crisply, shoes stacked next to each other. On the upper shelf sat a few thick blankets and a worn-looking cardboard box.

"I do now. Think he knows where she is?" Allen asked sharply.

Weston grasped the box and towed it down, setting it on the bed. He stirred through the contents briefly and then shrugged to himself.

"Don't know. Haven't found anything that says he does." He flipped through a pile of brittle newspaper clippings, some old papers and then tucked in all back inside. "But except for that photo, there isn't much to find. Papers, a couple of pictures on the wall, one box of family shit. Looks like he's got a sister."

"Well, keep looking. Check the basement, under the bed. Computer. The usual places."

Weston put the box back, shut the closet doors and walked out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. He opened the medicine cabinet.

"Two toothbrushes. Some rubber band things, some other stuff. She's been here. Don't know when." Thoughtful, he rubbed his thumb through a thin layer of dust on the perfume bottle. He pulled the cap off, sprayed it once and gave it a sniff; then replaced it. Weston shoved the shower curtain aside. "Two sets of shower stuff." He whipped it closed again.

"My guess," he said as he strode out and walked through the hall, past the living room and into the kitchen. "She hasn't been here for a while. Probably not since -"

"Since you missed her the last time?"

Clenching his jaw against a string of excuses, Weston reached into the fridge and tilted his head as he scanned the contents. He pulled a beer out of a twelve-pack with the corner ripped out, twisted off the top and took a long pull. "Whatever. She's not here. What do you want me to do?"

Allen was silent for a long moment, and then, right before Weston opened his mouth to ask again, he spoke. "Don't touch him. Look around some more. Look for letters, phone bills, some sort of sign that they've been communicating."

"He shreds everything. Might have to wait a while for a phone bill." He paused for a second. "You really think she's contacting him? It's been months." Weston commented as he held the beer bottle loosely between his fingers and walked over to the window, glancing out over the backyard, at the garage. The neighbor across the alley was getting into his car, and Weston stepped back from the window, ducking back into the shadows as Allen spoke into his ear.

"Judging by the picture, I'd say it's a possibility. Keep an eye on him. Check back every couple of days."

"Don't you think it might just be simpler to just take care of him?" Weston muttered, rolling his head to the side, cracking his neck.

"No," Allen argued. "If he'd had anything on us, they would have arrested us in that bar that night with Hill. And you can't afford to hit another cop."

Weston snorted, a smile twisting on his lips. "Cop's just a guy. Just like anyone else."

"Bishop says no." Allen's voice was hard, commanding.

He rolled his eyes as he downed the rest of the beer and exhaled loudly. "So, I watch him."

"Until he says otherwise."

"And my money?"

There was a pause; in the background, Weston heard Allen talking to someone, probably Bishop. Then he got back on the line. "We'll put some into your account."

"Some? When do I get the rest of it?"

"When it's done," Allen said simply. "When Officer McNally is no longer a threat."

Weston exhaled loudly, angry. "That's not the job I was hired to do," he snapped.

"Well, this is what we need. You don't do this, you don't get paid. Do we understand each other?"

Weston swallowed down the angry lump in his throat and gave a short nod to the phone. "Yeah. I got it."

"Alright. Now do what you gotta do and get the hell out of there."

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p>"Sammy!" Oliver called as Sam rounded the corner into the squad room with Green. He looked up, saw Shaw weaving between the desks and uniformed cops as he made his way over. "Zoe took the girls to her mother's for the weekend, so we're doing drinks at the Penny. You in? We're all heading over in a few."<p>

Sam blew out a long breath. "I don't know, buddy. Long day, you know?"

Shaw looked at him then, face softened in sympathy. "Yeah, I heard they found Malone. Dead, right?"

"Stuffed into his own trunk," Sam said with a tight, unpleasant smile.

"Ah, just come out. Blow off some steam. You'll feel better."

Sam considered it and then gave a nod. "Yeah, okay. Just one, though." He glanced to his right. Green was standing a good couple feet away, back ramrod straight, doing her best to look like she wasn't listening as she flipped through a report.

Shaw gave him a knowing smile. "You say that now."

Sam rubbed a hand at the back of his neck and then grinned sheepishly. "Okay, maybe a couple."

"What about you?" Oliver asked, looking over at Green. Sam's eyebrows went up and he tried to hide a smile as she stood frozen in place, only her eyes moving up to focus on Shaw's face.

"What _about_ me?"

"You coming for a drink?" Shaw asked with a friendly smile. "Part of the 15 family, right?"

Green's eyes slid over to Sam for the briefest second. Sam tried to remember the last time he'd seen her at the Penny. He thought for sure she'd stopped in once a few days into her transfer, only staying long enough to pick up a pizza; her eyes shooting across the room, watching the rest of the customers as they drank and laughed. At the time, neither of them had been incredibly friendly to the other, so he'd just gone back to whatever drink he'd been nursing, not giving her another thought. Things had smoothed out between them considerably in the last few weeks, but he couldn't remember ever seeing her there since. In the space of a blink, he gave her a short, almost imperceptible nod. She looked back at Shaw and then, after a beat, nodded sharply. "Yeah. Okay."

"Great." Shaw grinned at them both and then clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder and steered him towards the locker room. "You still owe me a couple from last time. Owe me a ride home too."

* * *

><p>Of course Shaw was right. Sandwiched on a stool between Oliver and Jerry, Sam found himself well into his second drink by the time he saw Piper push through the entrance across the room. She caught sight of him immediately, gave him a small wave before walking up to the counter to order. Sam gave her a quick nod and then turned back to Oliver. Noelle had come up on the other side of him, elbows up on the bar and was flashing her teeth as she greeted them. Sam glanced once more over towards Green. He was pretty sure he'd never seen her out of uniform before; other than the surveillance op and that hardly counted. With that red hair falling down over her shoulder and the spray of freckles across her face, she looked more like a college co-ed than a cop.<p>

He smirked a little at the thought and looked back over to Shaw as he continued his story, some snafu involving his oldest daughter and the family dog. Sam laughed when Jerry and Noelle laughed and then nodded to Liam for a refill. As the new glass was pushed into his hand, Noelle moved up in between him and Jerry.

Sam swirled the liquid in his glass, sipping at it slowly until she elbowed him in the ribs.

He looked over. "What?"

She tilted her head to the right, past Jerry, down the bar. "He moves fast," she remarked. Sam frowned as he leaned forward, looking past her. Piper was standing down at the end, ribs pressed up against the smooth polished wood as she took a cup of coffee from the bartender and then turned to look at Callaghan who had his forearm braced on the bar, leaning on it as he looked at her. He was showing white teeth, laughing in all the right places, and Sam saw Piper push her hair back over her shoulder, put her hand on her hip. "Didn't anyone tell her?"

Then Callaghan glanced over Green's shoulder, and met Sam's eyes with a brief flash of something far too close to triumph. Sam looked away and brought his glass up to his mouth. "Don't know. Don't care." Noelle was still watching them, a frown plastered across her face. "Hey," he said, eyebrows up when she turned to look at him. "She can handle him." Noelle raised an eyebrow and then on the other side of her, Jerry cleared his throat.

"You know, ah, Sammy…" Sam glanced around Noelle. Jerry was very obviouslyavoiding his eyes, had his attention on the movement behind the bar. He set his glass down, his hand went up to his face, rubbed at his jaw as he exhaled loudly. "Look," he tried again, finally turning his head to look his friend. "It would be okay, you know, if you _did_ care."

Sam looked at him silently for a second and then gave his head a little shake and looked away. On his other side, Oliver was staring down into his glass, looking very much like he'd rather be anywhere but there.

Jerry held a hand up and gave a half-shrug. "Look, it's been a while. People get lonely. All I'm saying is that no one would blame you."

Noelle snorted. "I would."

"What?" Jerry asked with a laugh. "The guy's been miserable for months. I think that it would do him some good if he just considered…" Jerry's argument died off as Sam stood up and moved to sit on Shaw's other side. He felt their eyes on him, all three of them as he rolled his shoulders a little, pointedly focusing his attention on the drink in his hand.

"Don't listen to him, buddy," Oliver said as Sam tossed back the rest of his drink.

"Don't listen to who?" a familiar voice asked off to his left.

Sam looked over and saw Green standing there, elbows up on the bar. She had three fingers shoved through the handle of her mug, holding it like a glass; the warm side pressed against the flat of her palm. She arched an eyebrow at him in question and he shook his head.

"No one. Don't worry about it." As she settled down onto the stool next to him and lifted the coffee to her lips, he looked away, brushing at a drip of condensation slowly tracking its way down his glass. "Not a big drinker?"

"Uh…" She glanced down at her coffee. "Not really. Kind of a lightweight, so…" Not exactly a shock. If she'd weighed an ounce over 115 he'd be surprised.

He gave a quick nod, then pushed his empty across the counter. "You have a nice chat with Callaghan?" he asked, glancing over at the man standing near the jukebox. He was alone, tipping a bottle of beer to his lips as he hit the buttons, paging through the selections.

"You two don't like each other much, huh?" Green asked, ignoring the question, and he turned to look at her.

"Figured that out, huh?" This time, his smile was sarcastic, and he glanced up at Liam, pointed to the glass on the bar.

"Yeah, well him looking at you like he'd just stolen your favorite toy was sort of a tip off," she said, taking another sip. "And pretty insulting."

Sam looked at her, expressionless but surprised nonetheless. He wasn't really sure why. One thing he'd learned about Green right away? She didn't miss much. On the street, it was an asset; her eyes saw everything. And off the street it was…unsettling. It made him wonder what other things she'd picked up in the two months they'd worked together.

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Is there a story behind that? You and Callaghan?"

He shook his head. "No story. Not an interesting one, anyway," he mumbled as he touched the glass to his mouth.

She nodded, like she didn't believe one word. "Well, I'm not really into all that, anyway. You know, flashy smiles and guys who wear their pants too low."

Sam snorted, choking on his drink.

When he recovered, she was trying her best to hide her grin, but it was there, all the same. "Plus," she said, rolling her eyes. "Until that bastard signs the papers, I'm still technically married, so…" She shrugged, nails tapping against the side of her mug. Her eyes were down the bar, not on Callaghan who was sitting alone near the door, but on Noelle and Jerry and Shaw as they chatted animatedly two seats away.

"You know," Sam said, pausing until her eyes found his. "These guys are pretty easy. Just find something to talk to them about. You're all cops. Shouldn't be too hard."

She looked down and flashed a quick nervous smile. "You've been at Division 15 your whole career, haven't you?" He gave her a nod. "Ever change schools in the middle of the year?"

"Huh?"

"You know, when you were a kid?" Sam paused, remembering the move to his aunt's after Sarah's attack and his mother's death. He'd been young though, and he'd had bigger problems than making friends. But he nodded. She smiled again, a quick quirk at the corner of her mouth. "It's kind of like that, except ten times worse. You know, family," she reminded him with a glance toward Shaw. "And obviously, I'm not that great at making friends." She raised her eyebrows at him.

He looked over at his friends and then back at Green, giving her a reproachful look. "Just give it a shot."

She inhaled deeply, flipping her hair over her shoulder, and Sam caught a whiff of something complicated and spicy like vanilla and cinnamon. And then, she leaned forward on her stool and raised her arm, getting Liam's attention.

"I'd like a refill, please," she said politely. Sam raised an eyebrow as he took in her mostly full cup of coffee. She glanced past him and waved her index finger vaguely at the four of them lined up along the counter. "I'll get these guys another round too," she said quickly, pulling a couple of twenties out of her back pocket.

Sam hid his smile behind his glass as he glanced down the bar, he saw surprised, but appreciative expressions on the other three faces. Another thing about Green, she was a quick study. Fresh drinks were pushed across the bar to waiting hands and he tried his best to ignore Jerry when he raised his glass, gave Green a quick nod of thanks, then shifted his eyes and quirked an eyebrow at Sam.

* * *

><p>He stayed a while longer, other hour or so. By the time he was shrugging his jacket on, Nash and Green were taking turns grinding Barber and Epstein into a messy paste at the pool table. He gave them all a quick nod as he strode past on his way out, but was halted by Shaw.<p>

"Hey, you leaving? I wasn't joking about that ride, you know."

"Well, I'm headed home." He looked at the half-full glass in Shaw's hand. "Finish up and let's get outta here."

He didn't wait though, just ambled slowly over to the door. By the time he pushed it open, Shaw was tucking his coat under his arm and following after, drink polished off in a single gulp. They climbed into the truck and pulled out of the space.

"Thanks for this, buddy." Shaw said. "Zoe'd have my ass if I drove myself."

"No problem," Sam said, giving him a tired smile. "When's she coming home anyway?"

Shaw shifted in his seat a little as he clicked his belt into place. "Uh, Sunday. The girls gotta be back for school on Monday, so…" Sam nodded, only giving him half his attention as he got out onto the road. "What the…" Shaw stuck his hand down underneath him, felt around and then jerked his arm up. He came back clutching a handful of soft-looking blue cloth. Sam watched as Oliver unfolded it, got a look at it, and then the sort of troubled expression that came over his face as he finally recognized it as Andy's scarf. For a couple minutes, the inside of the truck was quiet as Sam drove, his breath coming shallower as he fought the urge to hit the gas and just _get there already_. Oliver held it on his knee, balled up, cashmere spilling out of his fist. He didn't say anything else; in fact, he was conspicuously silent, filling the cab with an uneasy tension. And then, when they pulled up outside his house and Sam had his foot resting hard on the brake, Shaw opened his hand, Sam took the scarf from him, wordlessly stuffing it into the pocket of his coat.

But Oliver didn't open his door. He didn't really move at all until Sam threw the truck into park and leaned back, arms folded across his chest as he stared out the windshield.

"Let's hear it."

Oliver drummed his fingers against his knee and then gave a short nod. "Okay." He glanced over. "Jerry, he didn't mean… Well, you know he's only trying to help."

Sam made a face, but he nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

"And I don't agree with him, not about you starting up something new. At least not right now."

Sam felt a tiny shred of relief at that, but Oliver wasn't done. He waited for the 'but'.

"But maybe it's time for you to, you know. Get rid of some of this stuff."

"Shaw…" Sam gritted his teeth for a moment and shook his head.

"No." The word was sharp; strong. "I've been to your house, Sammy. Jerry and I were there just a few days ago to watch that-"

"I was there, Oliver. I remember."

Shaw was turned in his seat, belt off, just far enough to get his eyes on Sam and hold them there. "There was this red sweatshirt hanging on the hook by the door. Looked a little small for you. Not really your color either," he joked half-heartedly. Sam wasn't laughing, he wasn't reacting at all as he tipped his head against the window and stared out it. "Her stuff is all over your bathroom," Shaw continued. "I didn't go into your room, but I'd be willing to bet everything in there is pretty much the way it was before you went under."

"I like it that way," Sam answered quietly.

"Yeah, I can tell it's doing great things for you."

"What's your point?" Sam interrupted. "Because if I wanted someone to give me shit, I'd be back at the Penny right now, talking to Jerry."

"It's been four months, Sammy." Shaw said simply. But Sam knew how long it had been. Without looking it up, without counting on his fingers, he knew how long she'd been gone almost to the day. "I'm not telling you to get over her. I know it probably feels like - "

"Don't tell me how it feels, okay?" Sam snapped.

Shaw took a breath, let it out, and then tried again. "I know you probably think that it's helping, but I'm just saying, keeping this stuff around? You're not doing yourself any favors."

Sam exhaled loudly and looked over. "You done yet?" he asked, halfway between bored and annoyed.

"She's not coming back for it." Shaw got his hand on the door, opened it up. Sam didn't say anything, just looked away. "She's not coming back. And there's nothing you can do that's gonna change that," Shaw said quietly, but with a sureness to his voice that made Sam blink. "Take as long as you want to get used to it. But don't make it worse for yourself." Still, Sam didn't turn his head, didn't pull his hands off the steering wheel, didn't even breathe. "That's all I've got," Shaw said quietly. When Sam still didn't respond, he slid out, closing the door firmly behind him.

Sam threw the truck into gear and was down the street before Oliver even made it up his front walk. He drew in a shaky breath and listened to the rapid throb of his heart echoing under his ribs, trying not to admit to himself that Shaw might have a point.

* * *

><p>When he got home, Sam unlocked his back door, closed it behind him and flipped the deadbolt in one smooth motion. His duffel fell heavily to the floor and he toed his shoes off before reaching into the bag for his file on the Bishop case. He tossed it onto the table and moved to the cabinet over the fridge and took down the full, unopened bottle of scotch he'd picked up the week before. He poured himself one last drink, figuring he probably deserved it after the lecture he'd just received. Then he pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. Swallowing a healthy half of his drink in one go, he unclipped the pen from the folder and opened it. It only took a few seconds to find the right page, the one with all the general identification information about Malone printed on it. Physical description, home address, aliases, known associates. The pen hovered over the page as Sam took a deep breath and released it slowly. Then, underneath the name, he wrote <em>"deceased" <em>and the date. Below that, he wrote out what specifics he knew concerning the murder and the discovery of the body.

When he was finished, he stared at the page for a long moment, giving his drink one last quick swirl before he tossed it back. Then he stood, left both the glass and the file resting on the table and flipped off the light on his way back to the bedroom.

He didn't sleep well that night. No big shock, really. It had been longer than he could remember since he'd gotten more than a combined four or five hours. Longer than that since he'd slept the night through. But still, it was mildly alarming for him to find himself awake at four AM, staring at the numbers glowing out of his alarm clock. Every now and again a car would pass outside, its lights leaking in around the edges of the blinds, sweeping across the ceiling. The only thing saving him from being completely frustrated was the fact that he had nowhere to be for the next forty-eight hours. That he could just lie there, and let things sort of crash around in his brain. It wasn't something he often allowed himself these days. Specifically for this reason. Once it began, the kaleidoscope of images behind his eyes was almost impossible to shut off.

But Shaw had started it. And now Sam couldn't stop himself. At first it wasn't so bad, remembering the icy press of Andy's cheek after she would come in from the cold with that blue scarf looped around her neck. Remembering the drag of her freezing fingers against the warm skin of his neck, against his face. But it was never enough to have just one thought of her. And eventually, he found himself trying to think of other things. Work, Sarah, the ever-growing list of chores that had to be done around the house. Basically anything that would let him forget the way he used to push his face into her hair when they slept, her back pressed tight up against him. He laid there, letting the ache spread through his chest, feeling his throat get tighter with each swallow, until he heard the first bird start chirping away outside his window. And then he sat up and practically leapt from the bed, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly as he made his way across the hall to the bathroom.

He got the water running in the shower, and looked at himself in the mirror, giving a reluctant, self-deprecating smile at the circles under his eyes, at his hair far too long around the ears. Then he shook his head and opened the medicine cabinet. His hand was up, reaching for his blue toothbrush, but instead landed on Andy's green one standing up next to it. After a slight hesitation, he got his fingers around it and took it out.

For a few moments, he just stared at it, feeling the truth of Shaw's words from the night before. For five months, Sam had been living like Andy could just walk in the door any day, take up the broken pieces of their lives and fit them back together. But unless one of them had immediate access to a time machine, the likelihood of that was miniscule; infinitesimal even. He'd tried once before to get rid of her stuff, to pack it away, realizing after the deed was done that it only made him feel more alone. Her things, her clothes and magazines and all the ridiculous odds and ends scattered around his house used to be sort of comforting, but now, as he stared at the toothbrush, he realized that they were just an ever-present sign that he was stagnating. Running in place. He had to face the facts. If she was going to come back, if he was going to hear from her, it would have happened by now. And with the case at an indefinite stalemate… Maybe it was time to just…

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, tapping the toothbrush against the faucet twice as he considered it. Then he opened up the cabinet and reached back in and started pulling out other things. Random makeup paraphernalia, a shot glass full of elastics, lotion, a hairbrush and a bottle of perfume. He held the last up to his nose for a brief second and then brought it down again. Without waiting, he gathered everything in his hands and bent down, tucking it all into the cabinet underneath the sink. Then, ignoring the water splashing over his arm, he reached into the shower, fished out her shampoo and conditioner and stowed that away as well.

He closed the cabinet, leaned over the sink, and breathed deeply for a few seconds, letting the steam fog up the mirror in front of him until his reflection was no longer visible. And then, he dropped his shorts, shoved the curtain aside and stepped into the shower.

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>April 26 (Thursday)<strong>

"Abby!" Rebecca snapped somewhere off to Andy's right.

"What?" she answered, a little bite to the word as she straightened from her crouch and looked over, startled. That was all the opportunity Riley needed to blow past her and score his final point. Andy groaned and then glared at Rebecca. "Thanks a lot."

"Yeah, well I've been calling you for the last couple of hours but you didn't pick up. Clearly, you were busy." Rebecca said as she stepped up into the driveway, eyes shifting over to Riley as he walked between them to the edge of the grass. He reached down for the blue liter bottle full of water and drank for a few seconds before replacing the cap and tossing it underhanded over to Andy. She caught it against her stomach with both hands, gave a quick nod of thanks, and then took her own drink before turning back to Rebecca.

"I'm not busy now. What's up?" It was then that she realized that Rebecca looked _good_. Her hair was twisted into waves, she was wearing make-up, which almost never happened. She'd also deviated from her usual pattern of scrubs or jeans and was wearing a pair of black pants and a colorful filmy sort of top, the neck of which dipped down around her collarbones. "Why are you dressed like that?" she asked, brows drawing together in puzzlement.

"The question is why are _you_ dressed like _that_?" Rebecca asked as she waved her hands at Andy's clothes. "You need to go home and get ready."

Andy looked down at her cut-off sweats and the T-shirt with sweat rings around the neck and armpits. Andy crossed her arms over her chest as she was subjected to the scrutiny and then frowned, squinting as she tried to figure out what she'd missed. "Ready for what?"

Rebecca's eyes shot up. "You said you wanted to go out tonight. Remember? Your birthday?"

Oh.

Actually, Andy hadn't remembered. She knew the birthday printed on her ID, and she knew the date but somehow hadn't made the connection. It was a little like remembering the birthday of a relative; she remembered it when pressed, but when the actual day rolled around, it completely slipped her mind. It was surprising that Rebecca had remembered. She knew she'd mentioned it one of the first times she'd been over for dinner. In fact, it had been sort of a big deal for her at the time, rattling off her fake birthday like she'd been doing it her whole life. And it was possible Rebecca might have said something about going out. But that was… Well, it had been a while back. She hadn't really expected her to remember, let alone make plans.

"It's your birthday?" Riley asked, eyebrows shooting up as he moved closer and handed over her phone and keys. Andy grabbed them and shoved them into her pockets as she nodded. "Why didn't you say something?"

"Yeah. I just…" She shrugged. "It's not really a big deal or anything."

"Sure it is," Rebecca said with a smile. "Now go home and shower."

Andy shook her head. "Really, we don't have to do anything." She actually felt sort of guilty, seeing her get all excited, ready for a celebration when there really was no occasion to celebrate. "I mean, my dad might have plans or something."

Rebecca started herding her across the lawn. "I already checked. He's going to watch the game with some guy from the store. Bobby or something. Look, you don't have to worry. I just put my kids to bed and I'm paying the Clark girl ten bucks an hour to keep them there until I get back. But I told her I'd have her home before Jon Stewart comes on, so, we've gotta get moving." She put a hand at Andy's back and gave her a gentle push towards the street. Then Rebecca tossed a glance back at Riley. He was watching them walk away, one hand on his hip as he lifted the collar of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. "We'll pick you up in half an hour. Wouldn't kill you to shower either."

* * *

><p>They got to the house in time to give Tommy a rushed goodbye as he took off for the evening and Rebecca waited as Andy hopped into the shower. She gave herself a quick scrub and then got out, not entirely comfortable with the idea of Rebecca prowling around by herself. There wasn't a lot for her to find, but Andy was sure it would take about five minutes for her to dig out the gun in the lockbox under her bed. Luckily when she got out, Rebecca was still in the kitchen, digging around in the refrigerator.<p>

Andy wrapped herself in a towel and turned the corner into her room. She dried off quickly, pulled on some underwear, used the hair dryer for a few minutes, then started looking for something decent to wear.

"So, is this a thing you two do? I mean, you're hanging out?" Rebecca asked loudly from the other room.

"What?" Andy yelled back, distracted as she dug around inside her closet. She snagged a pair of jeans and quickly tugged them up; she was just buttoning them as Rebecca wandered back into the room.

"You and Riley," she said snacking on a handful of pretzels she'd gotten from the cupboard. "You're hanging out?"

"I've just been over a few times. Shoot some hoops, you know? Sometimes he feeds me," she added, tossing Rebecca a toothy grin as she worked her arms into a green T-shirt and pulled it down over her head.

The truth was she'd been over to Riley's five times in the last two weeks. Mostly on the nights when her dad had his meetings and she didn't feel like PB&J. But the food didn't come free. He made her work for it. Usually, he did his best to smear her all over the court, or the driveway actually, then he made her help prep the food. Andy hadn't put it to the test, but she was pretty sure she could now pull together a batch of banana pancakes from scratch if pressed. _Then_ they ate. Usually they perched on the back steps, plates balanced on their knees as they talked around their dinner, gesturing with forks, as Brody kept a vigilant eye out for any dropped morsel. It wasn't any deep conversation; just basic get-to-know-you stuff – work, her house, how she liked the town. Small talk. And mostly, _he_ talked; about town events, what summers were like, how things had changed since he and Rebecca were kids. Andy was more than content to just let him ramble, allowing her to just listen and relax without worrying about having to back up her cover story, invent details of her fictitious past.

And when their plates were clean, he'd take the dishes in, and she'd head back home, jogging quickly down the sidewalk under the streetlights, the dog trotting happily beside her.

Andy heard a familiar creak and glanced over her shoulder. Rebecca was lifting the lid on her jewelry box, using a finger to stir the contents as she snooped. By the time she finished, Andy was tying the laces on her shoes and pulling her hair back into a short, damp ponytail. She grabbed her jacket and threw it on.

"Ready to go?" she asked, shoving her wallet into her pocket along with her phone. Rebecca nodded distractedly and headed out past her.

* * *

><p>They picked Riley up with little fanfare and made their way across town to the bar. The place was already considerably busy, cars packed the lot and lined either side of the street. But Rebecca found a spot hidden behind a large truck and wedged the van in, locking it up tight with the click of a button as they moved towards the building.<p>

They walked down a dimly lit hallway lined with photographs suck up on the walls, from the top of the waist-high wainscoting to the molding around the ceiling.

"What's with the pictures?" Andy asked.

Riley answered from behind her. "They had this thing last year where they'd sell you a T-shirt, and if you brought in a picture of yourself wearing it somewhere, they'd give you a free beer." Andy scanned the long hallway, saw photos stuck up down the length of it. In each one was a random number of people, sometimes one, sometimes more all wearing T-shirts of various colors with the bar's name splashed across the front. When they emerged into the main room, she saw them also stuck up around the top of the bar, four or five high, wrapping around the whole thing.

"How long did that last?" Andy asked, looking back at him.

He flashed a grin. "About a month." And then the smile dropped off his face and he shot a look at Rebecca. "What are they doing here?" he asked, nodding at a table full of twenty-something women in the corner near the restrooms.

Rebecca winced a little. "I was at work yesterday and I was talking about going out for Abby's birthday and they said they might come out. Sorry. I forgot."

"What's the problem?" Andy asked, paying more attention to her surroundings than her companions. She was starting to get a little twitchy. The bar was packed. In fact, it was filling up as they stood there. People were already stacked two deep around the bar and all the tables were claimed. It had been longer than she could remember since she'd been packed into a room with so many people. She unzipped her jacket and flapped the collar a little, trying to stave off the small prickle of sweat she felt at the back of her neck.

Rebecca grabbed her hand. "Oh, he doesn't like the girls I work with." She started towing her over to the table. "But they love him," she said, flashing a huge smile at Riley, bouncing her eyebrows. "Won't leave him alone."

Andy looked back at Riley in time to see him roll his eyes. As she heard the bending notes of a guitar being tuned on stage, he looked over at her.

"I'm going to the bar. Want anything?"

"Beer," Andy said, feeling every ounce of reluctant excitement she'd managed to summon up suddenly leaving her. "Lots of beer."

Truth be told, as the night progressed, Andy thought she'd done a pretty decent job of being social. She'd been introduced around, had spoken to a few of the women about various things; their kids, their husbands, boyfriends or lack thereof. But for the most part, they weren't as interested in Andy as they were in the drinks in their hands and the guys on the dance floor. Riley had dropped off her beer and Rebecca's Coke and had promptly disappeared. Every now and again, she thought she caught sight of him near the bar, but someone would step in her eye-line and he'd be gone when they cleared a second later. So for the majority of the first hour, Andy sat quietly with her back to the wall, sipping at her beer while Rebecca did her best to pull her into the group, through conversation or questioning, and finally physically by getting her out onto the dance floor. She stayed for a couple songs but by the time the third came on, the unyielding press of bodies had become too much. Shrugging apologetically, she pointed towards the restroom and backed away, leaving Rebecca and half a dozen phlebotomists and lab techs on the crowded floor.

Instead of heading towards the bathroom though, she weaved through the people, shouldering past them until she hit the bar. Off to her right, someone hopped off a stool, leaving their full drink on the counter. Andy waited until they'd walked away before she dragged the stool over and sat down on it. It took her another five minutes to get another beer set down in front of her. And as the people around her received their drinks and the crowd receded slightly, she finally saw Riley, head bent down to a short brunette at the end of the bar. While Andy watched, the girl pulled out her phone and handed it over. Riley took it from her, tapped the screen a few times, and then handed it back.

Andy snorted as she looked away and took a drink of her beer. She didn't give him another thought until he showed up at her side, elbow up on the bar.

"You are one smooth operator, you know that?" Andy asked with a grin.

Riley smirked and then held up two fingers to the bartender and pointed at one of the bottles sitting near the register. When he was sure they were pouring, he turned to her, leaning back up on his elbow.

"I didn't operate anything. _She_ came up to _me_."

Andy rolled her eyes. "She asked for your number." Her smile widened. "Really, it's impressive."

The corner of his mouth tipped up. "I gave her the clinic's number. Her shih tzu's overweight. Here," he said, slapping some cash into the bartender's hand. He nudged over a shot glass filled with something clear. "Happy Birthday."

She picked it up, clinked it against his and then drank it down. The liquor burned a path down her throat and she sucked in a quick breath. Then she cut her watering eyes over to Riley. "I like my tequila with lime."

He flashed a grin. "Good to know." He nodded to the bartender and ordered another round.

A half-hour later, Andy was feeling pretty loose. Definitely buzzed; well on her way to being drunk. She slammed down her third shot and clutched at her pint of beer, feeling her cheeks burn from the booze. Riley was once again lost in conversation; this time with a pretty blonde perched on a stool on his other side. Andy checked her watch. They had maybe another thirty minutes before Rebecca was due home. She took a deep breath and propped her head up in her hand as she scratched her nail into a groove in the scarred wood.

It was only by pure chance that Andy heard her at all, as noisy as the place was, as loud and pulsing as the music was. But in the break between songs, the shrill sound of Rebecca's voice raised in alarm carried over all the bodies, over all the sounds of glassware jangling, over all the laughter and conversation.

Andy's head shot up at once. She glanced over and saw Riley's eyes up off the blonde and scanning the crowd. Finally, he locked eyes with Andy and held up a questioning hand. Andy stood up on the rails of her bar stool to get a better look and in seconds, she caught sight of her.

Rebecca was back at their table, socializing with her co-workers, but one of the guys had followed them back from the dance floor. He was taller than Rebecca, but most people were. His hair was buzzed short and he wore an old creased black leather jacket. At first, it didn't look like anything was wrong, but then Andy saw the expressions on the girl's faces, saw the guy snatch up Rebecca wince as he snatched up her slim wrist in a tight grip and that was all it took for Andy to hop down off her chair. It took her less than thirty seconds to cross the room, weaving through the people, stepping carefully over wet spots of beer on the dance floor.

When she finally made it, she put her hand on his shoulder, barked, "Hey," and tugged, trying to get him to turn away from Rebecca. He glanced over at her and snorted, then turned back to her friend. Andy pulled again. This time, he half turned towards her, hand up and reaching. He got his fingers in the front of her shirt, fabric twisted in his fist. But she reacted in a split second, the alcohol making her brave and brash.

To everyone else, it looked like she simply twisted his wrist. But somewhere inside Andy, somewhere dark and quiet where "Abby" hadn't yet intruded, Andy was subconsciously checking off steps like items on a grocery list. In a quick move, she got both hands around his, squeezing the small bones where his hand met his wrist, and took a step forward, planting her right leg behind his. When he loosened his grip on her, she started to turn his hand, twisting it back so his palm was facing away from her. She kept pressure on it, turning it a little more until his wrist was completely locked. Then she started to rotate it, hesitating for just an instant when she heard the first sharp intake of breath. He was scrambling a little, balance a bit off-kilter, reaching with his other hand towards her, but because_ of the way their bodies were situated, her leg braced behind both of his, and because of the way his arm was bent, he couldn't quite reach her._ He was sort of leaning back, spine pressed up against the edge of the table behind him, and glasses of beer sloshed liquid over their lips onto the surface, running along his jacket, dripping down onto the floor. And when she gave his hand one last twist, he made another sound, a sharp cry bit-off after only a second.

It was then that Andy realized that the music had stopped, that the people around her were staring openly in shocked silence. Even Rebecca was gaping at her, mouth dropped open, eyes wide. Her heart was pounding, adrenaline rushing through her like a tidal wave. Someone grabbed her shoulder and Andy's head snapped around, a hard look of warning crossing her face. But Riley held up his hands in surrender and then glanced over his shoulder. Behind him, she saw the bouncer pushing through the people, trying to make his way over to the table.

"Let go of him," Riley said, voice firm and tinged with worry. He widened his eyes to emphasize the statement and she released the guy, taking a quick step back as he got his feet back under him. He turned around and in a single second, made a grab for her, face contorted in a snarl. Riley snatched her arm and pulled her quickly behind him, putting himself between the two just as the bouncer broke through the crowd.

"You three," he yelled, voice booming in the already quiet corner as he waved his finger at Andy, Riley and the guy in the leather jacket. "You're outta here." No one moved. "I mean it. Get going before I call the cops." This time, there was another few seconds of hesitation, and then, the guy in the leather jacket went first. He slowly started moving towards the exit while Andy followed the bouncer back through the tables, through the people, noting that both Riley and Rebecca fell in behind her. They stopped at the bar and Riley paid their tabs and then the three of them walked out the back, down the dark narrow hallway to the parking lot. Once more, Andy let her eyes roam over the photographs tacked to the wall, heart still jack-hammering a mile a minute.

"So, where did you learn to do that?" Rebecca asked with a slow grin, any anxiety or embarrassment over the encounter forgotten for the moment.

Andy tore her eyes away from the pictures for a second and returned her smile. "I took a few self-defense classes."

"Are you sure you didn't teach them?" Riley asked, tone clearly sarcastic, but when she glanced back, a snide retort at the ready, she saw the expression on his face. It wasn't teasing or judgmental; it was curious. She just shrugged and then went back to scanning at the snapshots as she approached the door.

But she stopped short, maybe six feet from the exit, forced a step forward when Riley bowled into her from behind. They both muttered apologies and then she reached up to a picture at eye level showing a group of girls in lavender T-shirts all standing in front of a guard rail, a waterfall stretching high up a rock formation in the background.

"Where is this?" she asked quietly, head tilted a little as she reached up and tapped the photo. The setting was familiar. So familiar, in fact, that it was giving her an acute sense of déjà vu. Like possibly she'd been there before, seen that same place at some other time.

Rebecca looked over and then down as she dug in her purse for her car keys. "That's Shannon Falls."

"Is it close to here? You have a picture just like this in your kitchen," she said turning her face toward Riley, eyes still locked on the photo. "The same place I mean."

Rebecca smirked. "Yeah, we all have pictures like that. Everyone around here's probably been there a dozen times. Aha!" She held up her key ring and flashed a toothy grin. Then she caught the thoughtful look on Andy's face. "What is it?"

Andy stared at the picture. There's no way she could have ever been there, no way she could have passed it on one of her trips from Vancouver to Willow Bend. Maybe she'd seen it on television, or maybe she'd seen a picture somewhere else around town; a postcard, an advertisement, something. But she didn't think so.

"Abby?" Riley asked, giving her that same curious look.

Andy shook her head, a frown marring the smooth skin of her forehead. "Is it far?"

Rebecca shook her head. "A couple hours. The schools bus the kids out there every year, the last week of school. I try to chaperone when I can. I can put your name down on the sign-up sheet if you want." She was joking; she knew there was no way Andy would ever spend four full hours on a bus full of screaming pre-adolescents.

But Andy didn't laugh; she didn't even smile back. Instead, she glanced over and held her eyes for a second. "Can we go sooner?"

Rebecca shrugged as she backed up to the exit and pushed open the door. "Sure. Whenever you want. We'll bring the girls. Dogs too. You up for it?" she asked Riley, falling into step next to him as they made their way over to her van.

He slung an arm over her shoulders. "I don't know. Might be a little cool this early in the season," he said raising an eyebrow at Andy.

She gave him an icy smile. "You own a coat, don't you?" He stared back at her with a grin, brow arched at the challenge. But when Rebecca stepped away and unlocked the van, Andy looked away and swung open the back door.

They all packed in, Andy's mind still on the photograph of the waterfall. It wasn't until Rebecca was pulling out of the parking lot that Andy saw the guy from the bar. He was standing near his car, door open, leather-clad forearms up on the roof, eyes trained carefully on the van as it pulled onto the road. His stare never wavered, and Andy suddenly was filled with a creepy, sneaking suspicion that he could see her, though the vans windows were tinted. She kept her eyes on him until they turned the corner, and then she faced forward for the rest of the drive, skin crawling all the way home.

* * *

><p><strong>May 5 (Saturday)<strong>

A week later, Andy found herself wedged behind the driver's seat in Riley's Suburban as they cruised up to Shannon Falls. They'd removed the back set of seats to fit in the two dogs, and when she glanced over her shoulder, she could see Brody curled up for the duration, his side rising and falling heavily in sleep. Pressed up against his back, Riley's lab Lucy was snoring loudly, much to the delight of Rebecca's daughters crammed in next to Andy. Maddie was wide awake in her car seat on the other side of the truck, AJ tucked neatly between them. In the front seats, Riley and Rebecca were arguing quietly about which trail to take, when they should eat, what radio station to play. They'd been sort of snapping at each other for most of the morning, though she wasn't quite sure why. Not that Andy was giving it _a ton_ of thought.

At the moment, her attention was divided between the aggravating tap of Maddie's heel against the hard plastic cooler shoved between the seats and the landscape as it whizzed by out her window. They'd been on Highway 99 for almost an hour, and for nearly the whole time, she'd been swinging her eyes back and forth, between the steeply rising cliffs out the right, noticeably scarred from the highway expansion a few years before, and the water studded with small islands fuzzy with evergreens off to the west. A world away from Toronto, she didn't know if she'd ever seen anything like it.

It was early May, but the day was going to be warm and sticky. Though it was morning, there was a heaviness in the air, a humidity that made Andy grateful for the AC pouring out of the vents in the Suburban. There was still a fog hanging low over the water that hadn't yet been burned away by the sun, and ahead of them, she saw light clouds beginning to edge in and roll over the tops of the mountains. She felt a tingle somewhere low in her spine at the thought of a really good rain, though it only added to the anticipation of the day.

She still wasn't sure why she was feeling such a pull towards this spot. Chances were, she'd get up there, ultimately be disappointed and go home without any answers. But for now, she felt a familiar bunching in her thighs, a need to get out and move, to look around. In fact, if she had to spend even five more minutes with her knees pushed up against the back of Riley's seat and AJ squirming excitedly beside her, she might need to get out to stretch her legs and take a breather. But as she curled her fingers around his seat, pulling herself forward to poke her head into the front, they followed the car in front of them and turned off the highway. As Andy watched, they pulled into a large lot already half full with cars and buses.

Andy had her belt off and the door open before the Suburban had fully stopped. She was at the back, digging Brody's leash out of her bag when Riley came around and swung open the doors. They unlocked the harnesses and clicked leashes on collars and the dogs sprang down.

"I'll take 'em," Riley said, grabbing Brody's leash out of her hand. "Help Rebecca get the girls ready." He let the dogs drag him away to a grassy spot and Andy turned back to the car.

By the time he came back, AJ and Maddie were lined up against the Suburban, ball caps pulled on over their ponytails, faces and legs slathered in sunscreen and hoodies zipped up to their chins. Rebecca had a small backpack loaded up with every possible necessity. "You know, camera, snacks, sutures, whatever," she'd said with a grin when they'd picked Andy up that morning.

Andy snagged a few bottles of water and one of the dozen sandwiches out of the cooler and tucked them into her canvas bag. Riley handed her Brody's leash and locked up the truck and they headed down to the trail.

They took the short route to the main viewpoint, walking a path blanketed in sun-dappled shade amidst families and other tourists and crossed a boardwalk to get there. The dogs were especially well behaved, and Andy breathed a sigh of relief when they passed another larger dog and Brody barely did more than twitch in its direction. It had taken nearly a month of pretty regular encounters for him to get comfortable with Lucy, and even then, they sometimes got on each other's nerves. But he was just enjoying being out around people, new sounds, new smells. His training had been coming along over the previous weeks; he came when he was called, obeyed commands for the most part. Back in Willow Bend, Andy had very little concern about him being off the leash around her house. There wasn't much traffic and he was good with the kids. But at two, he was still young and certain things still made him take off like a shot. Things like squirrels. He caught sight of one and Andy let him drag her over to the edge of the trail. The animal was long gone by the time they got there of course, but he nosed around the tree for a good thirty seconds before Andy waved her group ahead. They fell in maybe ten steps behind, Brody towing her at a steady clip until he drew even with Lucy. Andy glanced over at Riley, saw his amused look and gave him a shrug.

By the time they reached the viewpoint, people were already milling around the site. Though early in the season, school groups, senior tours and families appeared to make up a large percentage of the crowd. There were a few large boulders set near three steps leading up to the main platform, and then in the middle of that sat another, long and flat, and right dead in the center. Beyond the guardrail, was a wall of green, trees wrapping around the entire perimeter, separating the people from the main attraction: a waterfall dropping from the top of a cliff stretching high overhead. Even standing at the entrance to the viewpoint, Andy had to crane her neck to see the top. And then she waited for it, for the realization, the answer to the familiarity she'd felt looking at the photo, but it didn't come. She did, however, feel a prickle of annoyance and embarrassment at the thought that she'd just wasted everyone's time, dragging them up here for no reason. She clenched her jaw and tipped her chin down, giving Brody's head a scratch to hide her disappointment.

A hand closed over her shoulder, warm and firm and Andy jumped, pulling away as she was startled out of her thoughts.

"You okay?" Riley asked, brows drawing together in concern as his hand fell back to his side. She nodded, swallowing back the lump in her throat, surprisingly upset by the whole situation. But she blinked, turning back to the falls before he could see it.

"Yeah, just, you know. Taking it all in."

AJ had already shucked her sweatshirt, tied it around her waist and was wearing a Little League T-shirt from the summer before with "WEAVER" silk-screened in large block letters across the shoulders. She was unmistakable from a distance, and Andy could see her already up at the guardrail; feet up on the bottom railing, fingers wrapped tightly over the ledge at the top, skinny arms holding herself up as she pointed up at the water and yelled over her shoulder at her mom.

"You two coming?" Rebecca asked sharply as she walked past them holding Maddie's hand. Without waiting for an answer, the two turned away, taking off at a jog to join AJ.

"Something going on with you and Rebecca?" Riley asked, staring after her with a frown. "She seems a little…tense." Tense wasn't exactly the word for it. Distracted was maybe a better description. Several times since the night of her "birthday," Andy had found Rebecca's eyes on her, like she had a question on the tip of her tongue, but nothing ever came out, not even when Andy asked. And since they'd all climbed into the Suburban for the drive that morning, she'd been edgy, even irritable, especially with Riley.

Andy tossed him a look. "I was just going to ask you the same thing."

He left her there, took Lucy over to the guardrail to join the Weaver girls and Andy reached into her bag and pulled out her camera. She slipped the loop from Brody's leash down onto her elbow and started snapping pictures. Of everything: the old couple sharing a sandwich on one of the benches, the four teenage girls perched on the flat boulder, tapping away on their cell phones, Brody, the trees, the cliff. She finally stepped a little closer and took a few of Rebecca and Riley, AJ and Maddie bunched between them. He glanced over his shoulder at her and then said something to Rebecca. She spun around, got the girls to turn, and then they all smiled for the camera. Andy grinned back at them and held the camera up, snapping a couple more. And then she paused as she felt it again. Something about the way Maddie was squirming in Rebecca's arms or how Riley draped his arm across her shoulders – a weird familiarity like she'd seen it before and she paused, waiting for the memory to come.

"I can take one of all of you," a small friendly voice interrupted, snapping her out of it. Andy looked to her right at the woman standing there. "If you want," she finished with a smile.

Andy nodded. "Yeah, that'd be great." She passed the camera off and walked over with Brody. The group rearranged a little, and Andy popped in at the end behind AJ.

"Maybe a little closer," the woman said and Andy inched over. "A little more?" Without warning, Riley tucked two fingers into her belt loop and tugged, leaving her within a breath of being snug up against him from shoulder to thigh. Andy gave a small gasp of surprise and then bounced back a step, moving up a little closer to AJ. She put her hands on her shoulders, tickling a little with her nails, and she smiled when the girl squealed the second before the flash went off.

* * *

><p>They stayed the whole day, walking the wooden bridges, the dirt paths, taking dozens of pictures. Riley, AJ, and Andy left Rebecca and Maddie at the gift shop and hiked one of the more difficult paths bringing them down to the water. Twice, they all went back to the car and pulled food from the cooler, finished off bottles of water and then returned to the park. They managed to find a couple open spaces, and let the girls run wild for a bit, playing with a few other children they'd met along the way. After things had settled down a little, after Maddie gave her first yawn, they started heading back.<p>

Andy let AJ "walk" Brody, still keeping a good grip on the end of the leash while the girl grabbed on right in front of her. They'd returned to the main platform for one last look before heading back to the Suburban, and were turning to leave, to retreat down the path to the parking lot when a squirrel darted out across the brick path. Brody bolted. Or tried to. Andy was ready for him, had the leash wrapped tight around her hand. But there'd been some slack and AJ hadn't been paying attention. When the leash jerked, it gave her a good yank forward, pulling her off her feet, leaving her skidding on her knees onto the stone walkway.

Things got a little loud after that. AJ was plunked down on a bench, sucking back hysterical sobs as Rebecca used supplies from her bag to clean up her skinned knees. She was alternating between soothing her daughter and thanking the volunteer who'd hurried over at the sound of the first wail. A white-haired man well into his 60's wearing a park T-shirt; he'd taken one look at AJ's shirt and crouched down at eye level with her. He was now talking to her kindly about softball and his granddaughter, passing her butterscotch buttons which she clutched tightly in her fist.

Maddie was tucked securely against Riley's side as he murmured to her softly and her head drooped onto his shoulder. Andy had both the leashes in her hands and was standing sort of off to the side, feeling guilty as hell as she kept the dogs calm and watched the river of tears track down AJ's freckled face.

"Hey," Riley said over her shoulder. She turned to look at him and bit her lip as it quivered the tiniest amount. He took a step towards her. "Don't, okay? It was an accident."

"But…" Andy began, tossing a glance over at AJ who had dropped down to a sniffle. "I broke her," she hissed. "Rebecca's gonna kill me."

"I promise," he said walking up until they were right next to each other. "She's going to be fine. Last year, last game of the season, she slid into home, and ended up with road rash up her whole thigh. She didn't cry once. She's just tired. Probably sleep the whole way home." He glanced down at his watch and then up at the sky where clouds were gathering. "I think I'm going to go put the dogs in the car while they finish up. Want to trade me?" He raised his eyebrows at Maddie who had her knuckles pressed against her cheek as she yawned into his shirt.

"Uh, sure," Andy said, throwing one more worried look at Rebecca. Riley reached over and took both leashes in one hand and then Andy held hers up and he passed her Maddie, giving her an amused look as she shifted her, trying to get her into a comfortable position.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Get outta here."

He grinned and started backing away, towed by both dogs. "You guys just meet me at the car when you're done."

* * *

><p>Within forty-five minutes, they were all packed back into the Suburban. Maddie was already passed out in her seat, cheek pressed against the side of her car seat. AJ had her head tipped down onto Rebecca's shoulder, large white bandages taped over both knees. Judging by the way their heads were nodding when Andy glanced back, she figured they'd be out before they were halfway to Vancouver. Rebecca had been crisply polite to Andy after AJ's fall, but it wasn't really any different than she'd been most of the day; sort of curt, doing her best to act like nothing was bothering her. Andy was trying not to take it personally.<p>

They made it back onto the highway before the rain started, and Andy smiled a little to herself as she saw the first drops strike the windshield and run slowly up as they sped along the road. Riley had been quiet since they'd started driving, a little lost in his thoughts, and Andy left him to it, happy to just ride quietly, listening to the radio. Clouds were covering the sky now, and the sun was almost down, bathing the road and the endless chains of cars in a shadow. Andy yawned loudly, unable to help herself as the weariness of the day started to settle in.

"You can sleep," Riley said, reaching over to turn down the volume on the radio. "Traffic's only going to get worse. It'll be a while 'til we get back."

Andy shook her head. "No, I'm fine. I'll make it." The rain was starting to pick up, starting to pelt the window hard, and as Riley flipped on the wipers, Andy turned to look out her window at the water. Towards the west, it was just a wall of gray; dark gray clouds, dark gray water, lightening a little where the sun still hung stubbornly at the horizon.

"So, was it everything you thought it would be?" Riley asked, eyes still on the road. "Shannon Falls?"

Andy shrugged. Actually, it had been almost exactly like she'd expected. A beautiful day spent outside, people all over the place, a nagging feeling like she was still missing something. All in all, a little disappointing considering the eye-opening revelation she'd been hoping for. "It was okay. Pretty."

"You should see it in the fall."

"Well, maybe I'll come back. Bring my dad."

"He didn't want to come today?"

Andy made a face. "The guy has a social life. It's weird."

Riley grinned at the thought. "He's dating?"

"What? No." Andy snorted with laughter. "He's just hanging out with some of the guys he knows."

Riley shot her a look. "You don't think he should date?"

Andy's eyebrows went up. "I didn't say that. I guess…" She turned towards the window and frowned a little. "I guess I just never really thought about it."

"Might be good for him. You know, to see what's out there." His eyes flicked over for a second and then back to the road. He paused for a second, a long heavy second. "Might be good for you too," he finally said, sounding infuriatingly casual.

"Subtle," Andy muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Just an idea."

"Okay," Andy said giving him an annoyed glare. "I get enough of this crap from her, okay?" She hooked her thumb over her shoulder, glancing back quickly to make sure Rebecca was asleep. She was, cheek pressed up against AJ's hair, the hand on her other side wrapped around Maddie's chubby calf. "If it was possible, he'd be here." Silence stretched out between them then, an uncomfortable tension strung out like a taut wire as she felt Riley screwing up the nerve to continue.

"Look, I don't want to be an asshole-" he said at last, his voice quiet as he looked up into the rear view at the children sleeping in the back seat.

"Then _don't_ be an asshole," Andy replied, raising an eyebrow at him.

The corner of Riley's mouth twitched, like he was considering it, but went for it anyway. "I just think that if it were me…" He looked over, met her eyes for a moment. "I'd make the effort." And he turned back to the road. The wipers were moving at high speed now, pushing rain up the windshield in watery sheets as they pulled into Vancouver.

"He _would_ make the effort," she argued.

Riley looked at her, eyebrows raised. "Then where is he?"

"I don't need to defend him to you, okay?" she said with a tight voice.

"Fine." Riley leaned back in his seat, wrist propped up on the top of the steering wheel, tapping his thumb against it absently in time to the music. He looked completely unbothered, not at all aware that she was sitting bolt upright in her seat, arms folded tight across her chest and her face screwed into an angry frown. His apparent disinterest only made it worse. She leaned over and slapped off the radio and half turned in her seat to look at him.

"It's not because he doesn't want to, okay?"

"I believe you," he said with a shrug. "Clearly there are evil forces at work here. I'm sure they've, you know, done away with his car or his cell phone. Or, I don't know. A pen?" he said giving her a look.

"You don't know anything," Andy said quietly.

"I know you're sad," he said eyes locked onto hers briefly with a startling directness that made her turn away. But he didn't stop talking. "We've known each other what? Couple months? I don't think I've ever seen you really laugh. And I know that whenever someone mentions him, you get quiet. Sorry, quiet_er_," he corrected with a short laugh. He didn't say anything more after that, and Andy leaned back in her seat, jaw tight with a swirl of anger and defensiveness. He was doing that thing again, pretending that she wasn't sitting there, visibly upset, clearly ticked off.

"I miss him, okay? There's no big mystery. It's just," she sucked in a hard breath, feeling it hit the suddenly raw-feeling skin of her throat. "I just miss him."

"So, go visit him." Andy just shook her head, not looking at him. "Seems pretty easy. Get in your car, take a trip. Not that your car would make it very far out of town," he baited with a cautious glance. "C'mon, Abby. Explain it to me. Why can't you just go see him?"

"Because I'm not supposed to, all right?" she snapped, not even realizing she'd said it until the words were out of her mouth and hanging in the air between them.

It took a moment, a very brief second for Riley to wrap his head around that. "Says who?" he asked quietly, looking over at her.

Andy chewed on her lip for a moment and then glanced at him. "That's none of your business."

"Why aren't you allowed to see him?" he asked again. Andy just shook her head and turned towards the window. "What is it, Abby?" Riley asked, his tone changing in an instant. She could hear the smile in his voice, a sudden change to lighten the mood. "Is he American and not allowed to cross the border?" She might have cracked a smile at that. "Or wait. He's Amish right? Not allowed to catch a plane." Andy bit her lip against the grin that threatened to cross her face. "Or maybe he's in prison?" The irony of that made her snort, just a little. And she took a deep breath through her nose and then looked at him.

"He wants to be here. I know he does."

She held his eyes for a moment and then looked away. Not for the first time, she felt like he was holding something back, something he didn't quite know how to ask. Neither of them said anything else for another minute or so, but when Andy wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly chilled, Riley's hand snaked out and fiddled with the buttons on the dash until heat started pouring out of the vents. She gave him a cautious but grateful smile.

Next to her, Riley took a deep breath and she glanced over, saw his eyes trained carefully on the road as he rubbed a hand tiredly over his face. "All I know," he started haltingly. "Is that if you care about someone, you try and find a way." He looked over at her for a second. "There's always _something_ you can do. You know? You've gotta try."

Andy looked away then, watched the headlights dance across the highway, reflecting off the wet patches. There was always a considerable amount of irritation that arose when she was questioned about Sam, about why he wasn't with her. But even stronger than that, was the heavy feeling of guilt that settled into her body. The feeling that she should have just said, "Screw Stone, screw the Program, screw Bishop," and picked up the phone. And the more she was questioned, the more the wheels turned, tempting her to break the rules, though the consequences would undoubtedly be severe. In fact, right this second, she wasn't sure she cared about the consequences at all. She wanted him with her. Andy inhaled deeply and nodded. "You're right. There's always something."

* * *

><p>Rebecca and the girls were still asleep by the time Riley pulled up outside their house and Andy reached back and put a hand on her knee, shaking it gently.<p>

"Hey, we're back," she said quietly when her eyes flickered open. Riley already had AJ's door open, was unbuckling her seat belt and pulling her up out of the car. As he held her up against him, her arms tightened around his neck and she sighed sleepily into his shoulder. Rebecca smiled at him gratefully for a moment, still blinking herself awake, and then after he'd walked away, she slid out and went around the other side. Andy met her at the back door and watched as Rebecca unstrapped Maddie and settled her at her hip.

"Would you mind grabbing that?" she mumbled, gesturing sleepily at the car seat.

"Yeah, no problem," Andy said, not really sure she had any clue how to get it out. She was still fighting with it when Riley came back out.

"You gotta unlatch the belt," Riley said, laughing a little when Andy jumped at the sound of his voice. "Here, I'll get it." She stepped back out of the way, and was only mildly impressed when he had the seat free and sitting down on the driveway by the time Rebecca came back out.

She walked up and picked up the car seat and started backing towards the house.

"So, I think we're in for the night, but I'll see you guys tomorrow maybe?" She didn't wait for an answer, just turned and started walking back to the house. But Andy stopped her.

"Rebecca?" The blonde woman paused, hand on the door knob and looked over. "Is everything okay? I'm sorry about AJ. Really."

She shook her head and gave Andy a semi-convincing smile. "She's fine. And everything's great," she said with a shrug. "Don't worry about it. I'll see you tomorrow."

Andy frowned as she watched the door close behind her. "She's acting weird, right?" She looked over at Riley.

He shrugged. "Compared to what?" he said with a slow grin. He walked around to the back and unlatched the rear doors. Brody jumped down and Andy dropped her bag down across her chest before giving him a low whistle and leading him down the driveway to the street. Then she spun around and fixed Riley with a look.

"We're good right? I mean, before… On the way home?" Her teeth tugged at her lower lip for a second, not entirely sure what she was trying to say.

But after a pause, Riley nodded. "Yeah. I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry."

Andy shook her head. "It's a weird situation. I guess anyone would ask." Her hand clutched tightly at the strap of her bag, nails pulling at the fabric. "But we're okay?" she asked again.

"We're fine," Riley replied. He walked around to the driver's side, pulled open the door and the lifted his head and looked at her. "So, I'll see you…?"

Andy shrugged. "When I see you?" When he smiled and nodded, she flashed him a quick grin and then turned to cross the street.

* * *

><p>Jill's car was parked neatly on the right side of the driveway but when Andy and Brody entered the house, she was surprised to find her sitting in the dining room with her dad. When she'd stopped by in the past, they generally sat together in the living room for as long as Stone stayed, which was very rarely more than a few hours. But something about them tucked into the table, about Stone tapping her pen crisply against the tablet in front of her spoke of business. There was a strange tension in the room and she hesitated briefly before she hung up her bag and kicked off her shoes. Then she smiled in greeting, a question clearly on her face.<p>

"What are you doing here?"

"She's going on vacation," Tommy said in a teasing voice.

Stone rolled her eyes. "Not vacation. We have to go pick up another witness. How was your day? I heard you went to Shannon Falls." She jerked her chin towards the picture window in the living room. Andy glanced over, saw the blinds had been opened, and through the glass, she watched Riley's tail lights blink as he backed out of Rebecca's driveway

Andy shrugged as she reached in and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. She cracked it open and took a sip. "It was fine. Nothing too special. So where're you going?"

"You know I can't tell you that."

Andy shrugged. "Worth a shot. How long will you be gone?"

Stone got to her feet and pushed her chair in. "Shouldn't be more than a few weeks. We won't know for sure until we get there, figure out the situation. But anyway, I wanted to talk to you before I left." She nodded to Tommy as he walked past them to the living room.

"Dad?" Andy frowned after him.

He waved a hand over his shoulder at them. "I already know. Don't need to hear it again. Have a good trip, Jill."

She gave him a quick smile and then nodded to Andy and gestured towards the garage. "Walk me out."

She waited until they were both outside, standing in the cool damp night air. Brody was nosing around the yard, but even he was tired from the day's activities; he wasn't going far. Jill tossed her bag into the car and then crossed her arms as she wandered back to where Andy was standing up against the garage.

"How've you been?" she asked. "It's been a while."

"Just a few weeks. But okay. Things are…" She shrugged. "The same I guess."

"You look better than the last time I saw you." She tilted her head to the side, a small smile on her face. "I hear you've been playing a lot of basketball."

Andy rolled her eyes. "He just tells you everything, doesn't he?" She scuffed a foot against the cement. "That's okay though, right? Playing?"

Stone was still smiling as she nodded. "Yeah. I mean, as long as you don't decide to go pro or anything." She paused a second and then her smile widened, like she couldn't help it. "Wouldn't guess Rebecca to be much of a dunker."

Andy shot her a look. "What's your point?"

Stone shrugged. "No point. Listen, there's been a slight development in the case." Andy raised an eyebrow. She knew Stone well enough by now to know by the tone of her voice and the set of her shoulders that it wasn't a positive development. "Chris Malone is dead."

Andy didn't even blink. "What happened to him?"

"Shot in the head, stuffed into the trunk of his own car. They put a rush on the ballistics. Same gun killed both brothers."

"And Weston?" Andy asked, making the connection on her own.

"In the wind."

Andy nodded and took a deep breath.

"So that's it then," Andy said in a faraway voice, eyes trained over Stone's left shoulder as the news sank in.

Stone hesitated and then gave a short nod. "Yeah. Realistically, he was pretty much the last chance they had."

"Hmm." She pushed the sound out as she leaned back against the garage, head tipped back, arms wrapped around herself as she ran it through her mind.

"What?" Stone asked curiously.

But Andy shook her head. "Nothing." She gave her a tight smile. "It just seems so… I don't know. I guess I just thought that eventually there'd be an ending, you know?" There was a sudden heaviness in her limbs, a split-second urge to sink to her knees and do little more than simply exist. But she took a deep breath and then raised her eyes to Stone again. "So, it's just me then. I'm the only one left to tie Bishop to the murder."

Stone pursed her lips and then nodded.

"What are the chances that they just accept I'm gone and stop looking?"

Stone shrugged. "Maybe they've already accepted that you're out of reach. Or…maybe they're just waiting for you to show your face."

Andy nodded and looked up at the sky. The lights of the town, dotting the street and illuminating front doors drowned out most everything else, but off to the left, where countryside stretched out, seemingly endless, the sky was awash with a heavy peppering of stars. Goosebumps chased up her spine and Andy rubbed her hands up over her bare arms, then gave a sharp whistle. Brody came trotting around the corner of the house and came to a stop in front of her, butt plopping down on the cement, tail swishing back and forth furiously.

"But you're safe here," Stone reminded and Andy's eyes met hers. "We're very good. No one will find you here."

Andy stared at her and then after a few seconds, she nodded. "I know." And she was. Safe. She couldn't deny that she'd gone almost two months without jerking awake in the middle of the night, or that she no longer jumped at harmless random noises when in the house alone. Sure, she still kept the house locked up like Fort Knox, all the deadbolts thrown, the alarm blinking away whether she was home or not. But lately, that was less paranoia, and more habit; a habit she wasn't interested in breaking. It helped her; reassured her. She_ felt_ safe in Willow Bend. At least for the most part.

"Actually," she said, her head coming up. "There was something I wanted to ask you about. A favor, I guess." She pushed off the garage and wandered a few steps closer. "I was wondering if I could start training again. You know, just get my skills back up." It was a thought she'd been tossing around since the night of her "birthday", telling herself if was just an idea, even though she'd been scanning Craigslist and Kijiji for used equipment during her downtime at work. It was a request that she was sure would be turned down. But maybe with the turn the case had taken, something had changed, because after a pause, Stone gave her a brief nod.

"I think as long as you keep it under wraps, that would be fine. What were you thinking?"

She shrugged. "A heavy bag and a mat. Some weights. Maybe a treadmill if I can find one cheap."

"You could just get a gym membership."

"I don't want to do Zumba," Andy said rolling her eyes. "I just want to be able to take care of myself."

Stone cracked a smile. "You don't forget, you know. Your body, your reflexes; they're still there."

Andy smirked. "Oh, I know."

"What's that look?" Stone asked, an eyebrow quirked, puzzled.

Andy glanced up at her sheepishly. "That's the second part of my favor." Stone put her hands on her hips and waited. "I need you to check someone out for me."

"Who?"

"I had a run-in with this guy the other night at the bar."

"Andy…" Stone said, grimacing. "That's not fitting in."

"Yeah, well he was giving Rebecca a hard time. I just, you know. Made him think twice about it."

"Did you hurt him?" Stone asked, her eyes serious.

Andy gave her a small smile. "Maybe a little. Nothing permanent."

Stone rolled her eyes but took out her phone. "What's his name? I'll run a quick background on him on Monday."

Andy shook her head. "I don't know. Call the bar. I got the feeling he's a regular. Also not the nicest guy in the world. They've probably had problems with him before."

"Physical description?"

"A little taller than me. Maybe 5'9" or 5'10". Blonde hair cut short, blue eyes. Maybe a hundred eighty or a hundred ninety pounds. He had this old leather jacket." She gave her the make and model of his car and stopped when Stone gave her a nod.

"That should work. I'll start with this and get back to you. Anything else?" she asked as she backed towards her car, tucking the phone into her pocket.

"Yeah. One more." Andy tugged at her lower lip with her teeth while she took a few steps towards the car. "I was just wondering if you checked on that other thing?" She widened her eyes and raised her eyebrows expectantly. But she felt her face fall, felt her whole body sink a little when Stone first hesitated, then shook her head.

"I'm still working on it."

"But you'll have something soon?" Andy's eyes flicked around the empty street, unnecessarily nervous. "On Sam, I mean?"

"Yeah, I know what you meant," Stone said quietly, not even a hint of a smile on her face. "I should hear something by the time I get back." She nodded at Andy. "I like the hair by the way, but you've still got to hold up your end of this deal. I need something from you first."

Andy nodded back. "I know." She glanced towards the garage. "I might trade in the Escort," she said, the idea suddenly coming to her. "Maybe get something bigger."

Stone looked genuinely surprised. "You'd have to take out a loan. That_ would be_ a big step."

Andy shrugged. "Well, Abby's got perfect credit. Plus, I work at a bank, so… Anyway, I'm thinking about it." She was thinking about a lot of things.

* * *

><p>After she watched Stone drive off, Andy took Brody back inside, closed up the house, and after saying a quick goodnight to her dad, showered and got ready for bed. But after shutting the door, she climbed into bed, up on top of the covers, laptop in front of her. She moved the pictures from their trip to a folder on the desktop and started flipping through them; candid shots of Rebecca and her kids, of the dogs, one of Riley leaning far over a guardrail to snatch up Maddie's hat after she'd tossed it off.<p>

And then she stopped.

The last picture at the viewpoint, the one of all of them together in front of the waterfall… It gave her the same weird sense of déjà vu she'd gotten in the bar that night, that she'd gotten that afternoon. Something about the angle, about the positioning of the people, or the height of the sun in the sky. For a few minutes, she waded through the memories from her time in Willow Bend, of her first few months in the house, and then before, when she'd been shut up in temporary housing. And then, she went back further, to the months Sam had been undercover, and then to the time before that. It was there that she found what she'd been looking for.

Andy closed her eyes.

She got the dull flash of a fireplace, the heat it kicked off as it warmed her skin. She could remember the feeling of the carpet under her fingers, the fragile paper shifting in her hands. But the memory itself, the actual beginning to ending wasn't coming to her. It was just pieces. Snatches of dialogue, the smell of burning wood, and the rough prickle of stubble against her cheek.

She took a deep breath and went over it all again in her head. The falls, the murder, the fact that her last real chance to ever see Toronto again, to ever see Sam again, had just dissolved, had literally melted away in the blink of an eye. There used to be a little sliver of hope, a chance that eventually, this thing would be finished and she'd be safe and something would _change_.That she could fix things. But that hope had died with Malone.

And once more, the same way she did every night, she searched for the reason. The reason why they couldn't be together; why she couldn't contact him and let him know she missed him and that he was on her mind.

Let him know how to find her.

Normally, it was right there, on the tip of her tongue. A dozen or so excuses given to her on repeat by Stone; her safety, the empty threat about Sam's job, the case, and on and on. But tonight, after the conversation with Riley, and now sitting there in the harsh light of her laptop, nothing came.

The case was dead. Stone had said it herself. Nothing short of a miracle would pull this thing together, would make everything right again. At this point, Andy wasn't sure she believed in miracles anyway. And she felt no panic over Stone's reaction, no concern for Sam's job, no fear over the inevitable repercussions. Only the hope that if she could get to him, that things might finally start feeling right again. That _she_ might start feeling right. And along with that came a surety that if they managed to find each other again, nothing short of a natural disaster would be able to separate them a second time.

The one memory that _was_ coming on, vivid and strong, was that last little bit of time they'd spent together in the safe house. Andy leaned back against the headboard and pulled her knees up, looping her arms around them as she remembered what he'd said.

"_Andy, this is not the last time we're going to see each other. But you can't call. If you call, someone could track the number and find you. No one can know your address. Not even your town, or your province." _

She sucked in a breath, letting it fill her chest.

"_And only if it gets bad, McNally. Only if you can't stand it anymore. I don't know what will happen if you do, but…" _

Well, she _could_ stand it. It took her almost four months to realize it, but here she was, doing it. But when she'd said that she missed Sam, she hadn't even begun to touch the surface of it. There was a huge difference between getting by and being happy. Tommy was happy; she could tell by the way he whistled to himself when he got ready for work. But she knew there was only one thing that would make her truly happy.

Andy opened her eyes.

It couldn't be as simple as a phone call. And email was out, since she'd tried and failed with that before. It would have to be something else. But as she closed the laptop, dug her feet down under the covers, she realized there was far more to consider. The message was only part of it.

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><p><strong>Once again you've made it to the end ;) Thanks for reading!<strong>


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N: Another long one, folks. And there's a lot going on, so for the faint of heart, this is your warning *L***

**People to thank include: Icewitch (soothing my insecurities), this-moment-is-stardust (editing and enthusiasm), sillygyrl (knowledge of geography), cocobean2006, SoWritten, kitkat (all three for reading and coming up with some good one-liners), SMchick (for Bait Car brilliance), and probably half a dozen other people I've neglected to mention. Also rookiebluefan89, for enduring the torture I've put her through the last few months.**

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><p>"<em>You ever get lonely?" Andy asked; three nights before he was set to leave. She was next to him and had her butt up against the jukebox, knee grazing his as she canted her leg a little. <em>

_Sam held a beer bottle between his fingers, tipping it lazily to his mouth as he flipped through the pages on the outdated machine. _

"_Not lately," he deadpanned, finally cracking a smile when she gave him a light backhanded smack on the arm. _

_She worked a pseudo-serious look onto her face. "I suppose I could just give you the night off. You know, me go back to my place; you go back to yours." She considered it. "Shouldn't be too hard. I mean, we used to do it all the time, right?" She arched an eyebrow. _

_Sam didn't move a muscle. Didn't react in any way. For a few seconds, they stared at each other, and then Andy gave a quick shrug and took a step away. Sam reached out and got ahold of her shirt and pulled her back. This time, as she stood back against the jukebox, he closed some of the distance between them, still holding the neck of the bottle as he placed his other hand on the glass behind her. Though he leaned over her, though they were very clearly in each other's space, he didn't touch her. The only contact was the dry warm brush of his shirt against hers as he shifted on his feet, as her breathing picked up a little. _

"_You're not going anywhere," he said quietly. "Not without me." Sam stared down at her, feeling a small bit of triumph when her eyes darkened, when two spots of pink rose high on her cheeks. He smirked and then rocked back on his heels, hand dropping from the glass as he took another leisurely drink of beer. Then he backed away a step, lips curling in amusement when her eyes narrowed. He downed the rest, tipping his head back, but straightened up quickly when he felt Andy take a fistful of his shirt and drag him close again. He set the bottle down on top of the jukebox and then bent his head close, his hands stroking up and down over her arms. "So, do you wanna get outta here?"_

_Andy's eyes dipped down, and Sam felt her fingers up under his shirt, skimming the waistband of his jeans. "And where exactly are you planning on taking me?" she asked, pink tongue flicking out to wet her lips. She tugged him even closer and he felt the warmth of her against his front from knee to chest. He left out a breath, almost a laugh, and ran his hands up to cup her face; the hard line of her jaw pressed against his palm._

"_Where ever you want." _

_She gave him a sly smile and turned her head a little. "And what exactly were you planning on doing to me once we got there?" She kept her eyes on his as she tilted her head a bit more and pressed her lips to the palm of his hand. Somewhere amidst the sudden pounding of his heart, around the weird adolescent flutter in his stomach, was that familiar flash of panic. A feeling of __**not enough time**__. Not enough time for teasing, for flirting, for every damn thing he'd wanted to do with her before he left. He felt her fingers graze the skin of his stomach and he blinked. The smile on her face faltered a little; her expression became concerned. "Hey, are you okay?"_

_He cleared his throat and nodded. "Yeah, it's just getting a little crowded in here," he explained, his voice low and strained. It wasn't exactly true. There were maybe fifteen other customers in the place, most of whom were at the bar. The two of them were actually very much alone in their corner of the room. _

_But Andy didn't argue. A smile was working at the corner of her mouth as she shrugged. "Well, I guess we'd better find somewhere a little quieter then." And she slid from between him and the jukebox and stepped away, hand wrapped tightly around his as she towed him out of the bar._

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><p><em>She asked again, much later; after they'd gotten to her place and they'd stumbled together to her room, leaving a trail of clothing down the hall. After they'd tried unsuccessfully to take their time with it, to draw it out; three nights before he was set to leave. The closer they came to the separation, the more frantic it had become; like saying goodbye over and over again.<em>

_Andy was tracing her nails over Sam's shoulder as he tucked his head against her neck, mouth moving against the pretty flush that had risen up her chest to her face. Tiny damp hairs at her nape were curling against her skin and Sam pushed them away, feeling her shiver under him. Then he lifted his head and propped it up on his hand. He was still settled comfortably between her thighs, could feel the flex and press of them. _

"_So, do you?"_

"_Hmm?" He brushed his thumb over a tiny freckle low on her breast. _

"_Do you ever get lonely? You know, when you're undercover?" He was concentrating on the rise and fall of her chest, on the way her skin sort of glowed, looking paler than usual in the moonlight. He smoothed his hand down her side, feeling her ribs, one after the other until he got to her waist and then he rolled onto his side, pulling her with him. Andy yawned a little and put her elbow up on the pillow, resting her head in her hand. She pushed her hair over her shoulder, tipping away when he tried to sink his hand into it. "Seriously," she said, as she inched the fingers of her free hand up over his chest. She lifted her eyes to his. "Do you get lonely?"_

_As she asked, he saw goosebumps rise up on the flat of her arm, and after a beat, he nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes." He reached down and dragged the bedding up, reluctantly pulling the blanket up over Andy's shoulder, covering up all that smooth skin. He folded his arm under his head, and she rolled onto her front, still propped up on her elbows. As the blanket crept down her back, he yanked it back up. "But you get used to it."_

"_But you have no one you can trust. No one you can talk to."_

_He gave her a wolfish grin. "Talking's overrated." She rolled her eyes, but this time didn't resist when he got his hand into her hair, letting it fall over her shoulder. As he wove his fingers through it, she swallowed hard. _

"_So, what do you do? When you get lonely, I mean?"_

_He lifted his eyebrows at her. "Uh, are you asking if I…" he made a gesture down towards his body._

_This time, her eyebrows shot up. "What? No!" Andy protested with a laugh. She gave his chest a good smack with the flat of her hand. "God."_

_He laughed, a good deep laugh, and slid an arm around her, shifting her until she was nestled up against him, pointy chin digging into the meat of his shoulder._

"_I just mean," she said, pausing to press a kiss against the muscle. "It's gotta be hard. You can't go to the same places, talk to the same people. You'll have to find another place to buy coffee," she added, like it was the worst possible scenario._

_He stroked a hand up her back. "They sell coffee everywhere, Andy. I don't think that's gonna be a problem."_

"_But what do you do? You know, if you need to talk to someone? Do you ever break down and call Oliver or Sarah?" There was something about the way her voice trailed off, something in the way her eyes were very abruptly off his face and on her hand walking its way up his breastbone. She was trying to sound casual, but she'd never been especially good at subtlety. Not with him anyway._

_He reached for her, got his hand around her jaw and tipped it up. "Are you asking if I'm going to miss you?" he asked, not even trying to subdue the pleasure on his face._

_She rolled her eyes. "I guess. Maybe." Then she groaned and turned her face out of his hand and down into his shoulder. "I suck, okay?" she mumbled against his skin. "I know you're going to miss me."_

_Again he worked his fingers into her hair and let her lean against him, let her hot breath swish over him. Though nice and warm and comfortable under the covers, a fresh spread of gooseflesh rose; this time on __**his**__ flesh. "You don't suck," he whispered against her ear. "This whole thing sucks."_

_Andy took a long heavy breath and he felt her fingers skitter over his skin, across his stomach, and come to rest gripping at his side. _

"_Maybe we could do something about it," she said haltingly, the wheels obviously turning even as she spoke the words. "I mean, even criminals take a day off. If we just __**happened**__ to __**accidentally**__ walk into the same Metro, it's not like we could help it, you know?"_

_A brief smile passed over his face, matching the all too quick flood of warmth that shot through him at the thought of being able to see her during the case. It would help for sure, but there were problems with it, too many opportunities for mistakes. Too much temptation to make it a regular thing. He shook his head. "That would be incredibly stupid."_

_She inhaled deeply and nodded, then ran her bottom lip through her teeth before she glanced up at him. "But you didn't say 'no'."_

"_It's a bad idea, Andy."_

_She yawned again behind her hand and tangled her legs with his, rubbing up the side of his calf with her heel. "Then give me a __**good**__ idea." _

_He took a few moments and then flattened out, laying his head back on the pillow. "It's only three months." But even to him, the words sounded like an empty promise. Three months could pass in the blink of an eye. Or they could creep by slowly; each day harder than the one before it. And that was when things would start getting desperate and dangerous for him. When he couldn't get her out of his head, when he couldn't keep his mind on the job because he was wondering whether she was safe and happy, because he wanted just to see her. _

"_Maybe we could email?" she suggested. _

_Sam made a face. "I won't have a computer. And I don't want to be sneaking away to find one whenever I have a free second."_

"_What about a phone call?" she asked, blinking her eyes solemnly at him. "You can make a phone call anywhere." He hesitated, and he saw something flash in her eyes. At first he thought it was anger or annoyance, but as the rest of her expression followed suit, he realized it was disappointment. "Or not. I mean, if you think you'll be alright." _

_She was up on her elbows again, fingernail tracing over the bulge of a vein running up his arm. Her head was tipped down, like she was concentrating on it, teeth working at her lip._

"_Andy."_

"_Hmm?"_

"_Look at me." She rolled her eyes, but after a few seconds, after taking a breath, she focused on him. "I __**am**__ going to miss you, you know." She nodded, sniffing loudly. Her mouth was shut, jaw clenched like maybe she didn't trust the words about to come out of her mouth. Sam stroked a thumb over her cheekbone. "You're gonna miss me too, huh?" He said it with a smile, like it was an inside joke; something quiet and secret just between the two of them. But she didn't smile back. Her eyes flitted away, back to her hand stroking up his arm, to the pattern on the pillow case, and when she took a breath, it was shaky. "C'mere," he said, all smiles gone for the moment, and he got his arm around her; felt the shift of her shoulders and the muscles in her back as she laid down, head solid and heavy against his chest. Her fingers were flat against his ribs; he felt the pressure of each one. And then he swallowed back the lump in his throat. "Maybe you're right," he finally said._

_She stiffened on top of him. "Right about what?"_

_He breathed deep through his nose. "About the phone call."_

"_You think it'd be okay?"_

_He gave a short quiet laugh. "No, I think we could get into serious trouble."_

_She tipped her head up to look at him. "So, why would-"_

"_If anyone found out," he added, looking at her seriously. "We'd be in trouble if anyone found out." Understanding passed between them, and she relaxed her body against his. "We'll just have to be careful." This time, after she yawned and laid her head down, he swore he saw a quick smile pass over her face. _

"_So," she said slowly. "Is this one call, or two? Or you know…ten?" He felt her grin against his chest as she kissed it._

_He pushed a laugh out. "'If we're gonna do this, we might as well __**do**__ it. Go hard or go home, right?"_

_She laughed back, fingers drumming against his ribs like she was pressing keys on a piano. "Are we gonna have a plan? A schedule or something?"_

_He smiled. "Like a date?"_

_Andy grinned back up at him, all previous melancholy forgotten in an instant. "Yeah. Like a date." She pushed against him; she got a hand in his midsection as she pushed herself up onto her butt, sitting cross-legged next to him. She gathered the blankets up around her. "So, Fridays? Or maybe Saturday. Isn't that date night?"_

_Sam thought about it, ignoring the voice in his head telling him that he was crazy, that he was making a huge mistake, that he could be jeopardizing his job and the case by agreeing to this. But right at that moment, a weekly phone call really didn't seem so dangerous. He sat up and turned so they were facing each other, knees pressed hard together. When she took his hand and laced their fingers together, he smiled. _

"_We still have a few days to figure it out. There's enough time for __**that**__." He leaned close and got his other hand around the back of her head, pulling her in for a kiss._

"_We're gonna be okay," he whispered against her mouth. Andy nodded, her free hand moving up to his shoulders, sliding up until her fingers were sliding against the nape of his neck. She opened her mouth under his, and the sound of her sigh cut through him, leveling him. "We're gonna be okay," he said again, this time more for himself._

_Again, she nodded. "Yeah, I know." And then, she was moving, pushing aside the sheet, climbing up onto his lap, wrapping her arms tighter around him. _

"_Not tired anymore?" he asked with a low laugh._

_She shook her head, biting at her lip as she looked at him. "Nope."_

"_Done talking?" _

_Her grin matched his and she nodded as she hooked her ankles behind his back. "For now."_

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><p><em>.<em>

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><p><strong>May 14 (Monday)<strong>

"Alright, settle down."

Sam looked away from Oliver, past a dozen or so bobbing heads to Frank at the front of the parade room. He was grinning wide, a map of the division on the board behind him, three areas circled in bright red. He used both hands, waving at the cops in the room until the voices dropped to a whisper and then finally, to almost nothing at all. "We've got a big day, people. Let's get to it." Sam settled back against the wall, hands stuffed into his pockets. Two tables up, Jerry was sitting with Nash, arm draped familiarly over the back of her chair, thumb brushing at her shoulder. Sam looked back to Frank. "As most of you know, there's been an increase in car thefts throughout the city. In 15 Division, we've been having problems in these areas." He turned around and pointed to the three circles. "And so," Frank lead in, as his smile got even wider. "We've gotten the okay to use a few bait cars."

As voices rose with questions, Frank once more quieted them down. "Some of you are already familiar with this kind of sting, but for those of you who aren't, I'll break it down. We get a car, already installed with GPS and a hidden dash-cam, load it up with gadgets, valuables, what have you. The 'bait'. Then, we park the car in one of these neighborhoods and leave the keys in the ignition. The criminals take care of the rest. When the door is opened, a silent alarm is triggered here in the wire room. Coppers in the wire room remotely power down the vehicle, lock the doors and radio patrol. Then you move in for the takedown. Now," Frank continued as he picked up a clipboard and flipped a page. "We're planning on using the cars in a different place each day, changing the vehicles out after each arrest. I've already chosen a few teams to participate, so listen up." Sam straightened up against the wall, keeping his eyes on Frank. "Peck and Epstein, Swarek and Green, Shaw and Nash." The six of them did a very brief exchange of nods. "You can work it out for yourselves who's patrolling and who's in the wire room. Make sure you rotate, stay fresh."

Frank went back to addressing the whole room and Oliver elbowed Sam. He looked over. "Should be fun," Oliver muttered, keeping his eyes forward.

Sam felt his lips twitch into a quick smile. "Better than riding a desk." He folded his arms over his chest. "Should we flip for it, or make the rookies man the wire room?"

Oliver snorted, but his response was lost as Frank raised his voice again.

"Also, I hear there's going to be a celebration at the Penny tonight." Sam's eyebrows drew together in puzzlement as Frank nodded to Jerry. "Barber and Nash's engagement." For the second time, the room was loud with voices, congratulations ringing out across the tables. As Frank spoke his parting words and people began to slowly move towards the exit, Oliver stepped up to shake his Jerry's hand. Sam knew he should be next in line, ready and willing to wish one of his best friend's luck, but instead he was second out the door. Green was first.

Twenty minutes later, Sam, Shaw and Nash were headed out to the cars, and Peck and Epstein were just settling into the wire room. When he reached the driver's side, he found Green already in the passenger seat. He leaned in to pass her a coffee and watched as she scrambled a little, dropping a thick envelope into the side pocket in the door.

"Everything alright?"

She gave him a fleeting smile as she accepted the coffee. "Everything's great."

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><p>The first day of the sting could have been better. In between ticketing a few cars for speeding, they picked up two suspects. Or rather, one and a half. They let the first bait car get almost a mile down the road before killing the engine and both squad cars zipped in, lights flashing, sirens blaring, and arrested the suspect. The second car was placed and it took most of the day for another guy to come along and snatch the iPod out of the console. He left the car where it was, but Sam and Piper picked him up down the street, a block away from a pawn shop and took him back to booking.<p>

Green was quiet the whole shift, playing her part when needed, but there were no semi-intrusive questions, no real interest at all in conversation. She spent the majority of the day staring out the window, scanning the streets. He only asked about it once, tossing out a casual, "Something bothering you?"

He received a scathing look complete with an icy, "Mind your own business, Swarek." After that, he did.

The Penny was the same as it always was, loud, crowded; the heavy tang of beer and fried food hung in the air. Sam sat around the corner of the bar, keeping an eye on the activity in the main part of the room. For the most part, things were normal, but there was an obscene amount of toasting going on, and he wasn't too sure how much longer he'd be able to keep it up; the faking. He'd come into the building and gone straight over to Jerry, shook his hand; trying in a weird way to make up for avoiding him earlier in the day. It was easier now that he'd had time to let it sink in, now that he could plaster a happy expression on his face. It was strange how difficult it was to be happy at a friend's good fortune when his own life was so up in the air.

He swallowed hard as a quick pang of sadness shot through him, but it faded after a minute or so and then he took a deep breath, swallowed the last of his scotch and shrugged into his jacket. He was adjusting the collar around his neck and shoulders, flapping it a little as he spun, ready to leave, and saw Nash leaned up on the bar a few feet down. Sam slid off his stool and took a step towards her.

"I got this," he said, tossing some money onto the bar as Liam passed Nash her drink.

She looked over in surprise. "Thanks."

"Yeah, well," he winced. "I'm probably the last one to congratulate you, so I probably owe you a little extra." She gave him a tiny smile as she sipped at her drink, keeping her back to the group. She didn't say anything else, and Sam glanced around, feeling a little uncomfortable. "So," he ventured, leaning his back against the bar as he looked at her. "So, have you set a date?" he asked, shooting for polite, then realized with some surprise he actually wanted to know.

Nash shrugged, shoulders and mouth. "No rush, you know." She nodded to herself. "Lots of couples have long engagements."

Sam frowned, confused. "How long are you thinking?"

Again, she shrugged. "A year, maybe two? Who knows," she muttered quietly. Sam looked over towards the group clustered around the table in the middle of the room. Jerry was laughing with Williams about something, loud, rolling laughter that carried through the room. When he turned back, and she saw the expression on his face, she set her drink down. "What?"

Sam shook his head. "I guess I just thought you'd do it quick, you know? What are you waiting for?"

Nash made a sound, almost a laugh but not quite, and the barest hint of sadness crossed her face. Her eyes flicked to him once, then a second time and then she shook her head, wrapping her fingers around the cone of her martini glass. She took a step away and then looked back at him. "Andy," she said simply, one shoulder lifting sheepishly. "Doesn't feel right; doing it without her."

He stared after her, watching as she rounded her table, and then slid into a chair next to Barber. She smiled over at him with a warmth that didn't quite reach her eyes, and put her hand up to his cheek when he leaned in to kiss her. Afterwards, he went back to his conversation, keeping his arm around her shoulders, and Nash looked up, meeting Sam's eyes directly. After a few seconds, he gave her what he hoped passed for an encouraging smile and then turned to leave.

His plan was derailed once more though as he walked out the door and pulled his keys from his pocket, spinning the ring on his finger as he walked toward the corner of the lot. But as he moved around the front of his truck, he stopped, keys coming to an abrupt halt clutched in his hand.

Green's shiny new hatchback was parked next his truck, and she was perched on the hood, a loosely-woven sweater pulled tight around her to keep out the chill as she gnawed on a straw stuck down into a deep glass half-filled with something brown. But as incongruous as the drink in her hand was, it wasn't the first thing that caught his attention. She was crying. She wasn't making a big production about it though; a few tears tracked down over her cheeks. Nothing more. No quiet sobbing, no loud sniffling. Just the sound of a straw sucking air as she finished her drink.

"You know," he said, feeling a tiny pang of amusement when she jumped at the sound of his voice. "For someone who doesn't drink, you seem to be doing a pretty good job."

As he stepped closer, she swiped at her cheeks with the back of one hand, and then used the collar of her shirt on her eyes for good measure.

"I said I wasn't a big drinker. Not that I never drank. There's a difference," she pointed out, voice sounding far more breakable than he knew she intended.

Sam leaned back against his truck, arms folded in front of him as he studied her. "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to have that out here."

She sniffed and then smirked, leaning back on her hands, glass still wedged between her thighs. "I'd say 'arrest me' but looks like the evidence has been disposed of."

Sam rolled his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face tiredly. "So, why now?"

"Hmm?" She made the sound without looking at him, tapping the straw against the bottom of the glass.

"Why are you drinking now?"

"Felt like it," she replied a little tartly.

"Well, why not drink in there?" He tipped his head toward the brick outer wall of the Penny.

"Why aren't you?"

"I was," he said slowly, an impatient smile spreading across his face.

She smiled back, just as insincerely. "Me too. Didn't feel much like partying." For half a minute or so, neither of them said anything. Sam checked his watch. Later than he'd hoped, but not so late that he'd regret it in the morning. He heard the creak of the hood as Green shifted on top of it, pulling her knees up to her chest and looping her arms around them, the empty glass dangling precariously from her fingertips. Sam kept his eyes on it, waiting for it to fall. When it didn't, he looked up at her face again.

"Does this have something to do with that letter I saw you with earlier?"

A wry smile crept over her face and she tipped her head back to look at the moon peeking through the branches of a tree that stretched overhead. "You should take the detective's exam. Probably blow everyone else out of the water."

Sam snorted, but he kept looking at her, still questioning. Finally after a good minute of pointedly ignoring him, Green leaned to the side and pulled out the thick sheaf of folded papers tucked under her thigh. She frisbeed them over to him, and he caught them against his chest, giving her an annoyed look as he opened them up. Across the top, under a conservative letterhead were printed the words "Petition for the Dissolution of Marriage." His eyes shot up to the small figure leaned back on the hood of the car and then back down to the papers as he flipped through them quickly. Every line had been signed.

He frowned and flipped the packet closed, folding them carefully before he handed them back to her. And then he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and took a step closer. "I don't get it. I thought that was what you wanted."

She nodded, eyebrows up as she thought about it. "No, it was. It _is_," she corrected, giving him a look.

"So, _why_ aren't you celebrating?" he asked.

Green looked past him at the door. It was swinging closed after two people exited through it, and made their way across the lot and out onto the street. Then she turned back to him. "Celebrating comes after."

"After what?"

She held up her glass in illustration. "After a refill." The ice rattled in the glass as she pushed herself down the hood, sliding the last couple of feet to the bumper. She came to a jarring stop when her feet slapped against the pavement. For a second she just hung there, backside still against the bumper while the impact reverberated up her legs, and then she pushed herself up, arm swinging wide for balance. Out of instinct, Sam reached out, got his hand around her elbow and steadied her.

He half expected Green to jerk away like a wounded animal shrinking from touch; but she didn't. She just stood there and he watched as her expression changed from total blankness to one of immediate panic when she finally stopped moving.

"Uh, how many of those did you have?" he asked as the smell of whiskey floated over him.

"That was my second."

"Full?" he asked loudly, eyebrows up towards his hairline. She nodded, lips pressed tightly together. "Need to get something in your stomach?" She nodded again. He took a deep breath and started pulling her towards the Penny, but she dug her feet in.

"Not in there. Just… Somewhere else. I don't need everyone to see me like…" She looked down at herself. There was nothing wrong with the way she looked, but clearly the past moments of vulnerability had left her feeling a little raw, a little exposed. For a second, he considered telling her she was being an idiot, but instead just nodded.

He turned to his truck and opened the passenger door, intending on giving her a hand up as she took an unsteady step towards it. "Just don't puke in the truck, okay?"

She looked up at it, at the distance between the seat and the ground, and then back at him. "No promises."

Sam's hand froze on the door handle for a long moment, and then he swung the door shut. "Then I guess we're walking it."

Green took in a breath and nodded. "Probably best."

* * *

><p>Forty-five minutes later, they were sitting across from each other in a booth covered in ripped red vinyl and Sam was slowly rotating a half-full bottle of beer against the scarred and stained wooden table top. Green was busy powering through a plate of tacos. She was on her second and had a third loaded and ready to go. Her eyes had gotten as wide as saucers when the bartender had delivered the food, skin going just a little green at the thought of putting even a single bite into her mouth. But somewhere in the middle of the first, she'd apparently changed her tune. In between tacos two and three, she sucked down a glass of water and then looked over at him for the first time.<p>

"I think I just got my second wind."

"Hmm?"

"I'm ready to celebrate now."

Sam raised an eyebrow at her. "What does that mean?"

She made eyes at his beer. "I promise I won't puke in your truck."

"It'd be hard, considering it's parked almost four kilometers away. Why'd we come here anyway? This place is a shithole."

She looked down at her plate and picked up the last taco. "Because the food is good, and my place is just a couple blocks west. I can walk home after."

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" he asked, eyebrows up in disbelief.

She looked up at him, eyes sparkling. "Take a cab. Or walk back," she said, giving him an impish smile. Sam rolled his eyes, slid out of the booth and stalked away to the bar.

When he returned, Piper was pushing her plate away and leaning back against the padded seat.

"Feeling better?" He passed her the beer.

She nodded. "Much." Her eyes bounced from his face to the papers lying folded on the table, shoved up next to the crappy empty napkin holder. "I suppose you want to know about-"

"None of my business," Sam said, cutting her off. He tapped his bottle against hers. "Cheers."

She was quiet for a few minutes and Sam took the opportunity to observe the room again. It was supposed to be a Mexican food joint, he supposed. At least at one time, it had been. It still reeked of stale tortilla chips and cheap tequila, but as the décor aged, dining had been replaced with a few pool tables, a bar whose paneling didn't match the rest of the building and a clientele that was less than family-friendly. Strings of colored lights wound around the room, some blinking with their last vestiges of life, and ancient piñatas hung in the corners and around the bar. Across the open space, wedged in next to a few tiny round tables were a couple of guys that made Sam's cop instincts perk up. One of them looked like he hadn't had a shower in the last couple of days, and the other one had his eye on Green; had been watching her since she'd first fallen into the booth.

"It's not that I'm sad about it."

"What?" Sam tore his attention from the pool tables and looked at her.

She stretched her arm out, tapped the divorce papers with her little finger. "I'm not sad about it."

"I believe you," he replied, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck, wondering for a moment what the hell he was still doing up at – he looked at his watch – 12:03 AM. It wasn't actually that late, but they were due back at work early the next morning.

"No, you don't," she accused, her eyes narrowed the way they always did when she thought she had him figured out. "You think I'm just…I don't know. Trying to put on a brave face or something."

"Well, aren't you?" he countered before taking a long pull from his beer. In truth, he probably should have eaten something himself. He wasn't drunk, not quite. But he could feel his head swim just the slightest amount when he turned.

"Nobody likes to fail at things, you know." Her eyes burned with unrestrained irritation and he looked away. "It doesn't matter if it's your job," she said, brows raised at him. "Or if it's your love life. It's shit either way. And when it's something important, you take it personal. So don't judge me."

Sam set his bottle down hard and pointed a finger at her. "I'm not judging you. You're judging yourself."

She stared at him and this time he didn't avert his eyes, didn't move a muscle until her gaze dropped to her hands twisted on the table top in front of her. Still he didn't look away. She didn't twitch, or sigh, or anything. He couldn't even be sure she took a breath in the minute it took her to speak. And then, she inhaled deeply, blowing it out in what was almost a whistle before taking a swig of her beer; she licked a stray drop from her lower lip.

"He wanted me to quit my job."

Sam blinked in surprise, but recovered quickly. "Why?"

She shrugged, working her fingernail under the label on her bottle. She ripped off a strip of it. "He said we weren't seeing enough of each other, which is stupid, because EMS works rotating shifts too. It wasn't just me. But when I refused, he said that I at least needed to switch to a desk job."

"Why?"

"So the house would be clean, and the fridge would be full." Green made a face. The corner of her mouth turned up in an angry smile. "We fought about it all the time. I thought that since he was the one with the problem, he should be the one to step down. I like my job." She shrugged.

Sam hesitated, then gave her a brief nod. "He didn't see it that way?"

"Nope." The label was shredded now, curls of metallic paper in a small pile on the table. "It actually got to the point where I was so tired of fighting about it, that I was considering giving in, just to shut him up. I was filling out the paperwork for the transfer to desk when I got called into my staff sergeant's office." Green's smile grew genuine, proud. "He wanted to promote me. Or at least start me training to be a TO." Her eyes lifted to Sam's. "It was a big deal at the time." She lifted the bottle to her mouth and took a drink. "Anyway, I went home that night and told him that if he wanted something to change, he'd have to change it, because I wasn't transferring from patrol. He said if I didn't go back to my boss and tell him I changed my mind about the promotion, he was calling a lawyer, and so the next day, I took a few hours off, and went and filed for divorce." She finished what was left in her bottle. "Asshole took his time signing the papers just to spite me."

"But he did sign them," Sam pointed out, downing the rest of his beer.

She gave him a look. "Only because the last time I saw him I told him I'd make his life a living hell if he didn't." She reached out, and before he could protest, grabbed his empty. "Next one's on me."

* * *

><p>Almost two hours later, with four more beers and three shots long gone, Sam finally just admitted to himself that he might have overdone it. He'd been okay after drinks at the Penny, but the last two tequilas on an empty stomach had taken him over the edge. The lights blinked twice and Sam glanced to his left at the bartender who was filling orders for last call. The cook walked through a pair of swinging doors carrying a rack of washed pint glasses and pitchers. Sam rubbed both hands over his face and pulled out his phone, squinting at the tiny letters and numbers on the screen, but as an old Bob Dylan tune started playing quietly, his thumb hovered over the buttons and his gaze floated up. Against the far wall, Piper was busy at the jukebox; she'd been there nearly fifteen minutes, fingers wrapped around the sharp edge of the machine as she fed money in and chose songs. At the rate she was going, the bar would close long before her music played, but that wasn't Sam's immediate concern. The guy from earlier, the one sitting near the pool tables who'd been looking at her like she was lunch had levered himself off the stool and was making his way over.<p>

For a second, Sam watched as he approached her. It was vaguely reminiscent of their first shift together when she'd stood next to Ruben. Though not as heavy, this guy was almost a foot taller and could probably have spanned her waist with both hands if she let him get close enough. But Piper gave him a dirty look and Sam would've sworn he could hear her disdainful snort from where he sat. He couldn't hear the words that came a moment later, but he could hear her voice, sharp and acidic as she dismissed him. After a few long seconds, the guy backed away, tossing a grin over his shoulder at her before facing his friend again, hands up, defeated.

She came back then, her stride a little long for someone her size, and she slid back into her side of the booth.

Sam thought he'd been hiding it, the amusement at her so effortlessly putting the guy in his place, but Green tilted her head a little and said, "What?" in a tone that was both bossy and curious.

And because he knew it would irritate her, he gave his head a shake. "Nothing."

Again the lights blinked and Green sat up tall, swiveling in the direction of the door. Automatically, her fingers went to the buttons on her sweater, doing them up until it covered the white shirt underneath, and then she got a hand on the vinyl and another gripped around the table and she hauled herself up again. She took a few steps and then looked over her shoulder at him.

"You ready to go?"

For a second, Sam just looked at her, trying to remember where they were headed after this, and then his phone vibrated with a text. He peered down at it. Oliver.

"I think I'm just gonna call for a ride," he said, looking back up at her.

She nodded. "Sounds good. See you tomorrow."

Sam lifted his hand in a wave, but she was already halfway across the room. He held up his Blackberry and pressed speed dial 4. But as he brought it to his ear, he saw the same guy nudge his friend, nodding at Piper as she pushed through the heavy red door. As she disappeared, the guy stood up and tossed parting words over his shoulder as he stuck an arm in his jacket and made his way to the door.

"Yeah?" He heard Oliver answer, but Sam was already moving. He left the mess on the table – dirty dishes, half a dozen empty bottles – and was around the bar and out the door in a matter of seconds.

"Sorry buddy, gotta go," he said distractedly into the phone before he hung it up and stuffed it into his back pocket.

Looking up and down the street, he saw other stragglers taking their time getting home for the night, but Green was nowhere to be seen, nor was the guy who'd followed her out. She'd said her apartment was west, so he took off in that direction, walking a little quicker than usual as he kept an eye out for her red hair. He was halfway down the second block when he heard a cry. Sam jogged around the corner and then stopped short, maybe four meters into the alley. Green was on the ground off to one side, on her hands and knees, cursing under her breath. He rushed over.

"Where'd he go?"

Her head snapped up, and she narrowed her eyes, squinting at him in the dim light. "Where'd who go? Help me up." He got his hands under her elbows and hauled her up, steadying her as she staggered a step.

"That guy that followed you."

Piper gave him a weird look. "No one followed me. I tripped over…" She spun around, scanning the ground until she saw the offending object; a chunk of cement, broken off the edge of a driveway and knocked into the alley. "Over that," she said, giving it a kick. "Stupid thing." She reached down and rubbed at her knee, wincing. "Gonna have bruises tomorrow."

"Jesus Christ," Sam muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I thought…"

She stared at him, smiling a little. "You worried about me, Swarek?"

He had been; his heart was _still_ pounding. "You wish," he said feebly, looking down the alley. He took a deep breath. "If you're okay, we should probably get moving."

"I can walk myself, you know," she said, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah, you're obviously a pro."

She reached out, gave him a push, grinning when he stumbled a little, but she didn't argue.

* * *

><p>They exited the alley, went west another block, and then Green stopped, her hand on one of two massive stone blocks flanking a set of low-rise steps.<p>

"This is me."

Sam looked up at the front of the old building. From the outside it looked clean, reasonably well-maintained. A bright floodlight shone down to the sidewalk where they stood, bathing them both in yellow. Green took a few of the steps and then looked down over her shoulder at him.

"You'd better get going. Getting up tomorrow's gonna suck."

Sam nodded and looked down the street in the direction of the Penny. If he started back now, he might be sober enough to drive by the time he got there, but he doubted it. He took a deep breath and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck as he considered his options. A cab would take forever at this time of the night, right after bar close. He'd have to call Oliver to pick him up, but he didn't move.

He didn't want to call Oliver. Or a cab. But most of all, he didn't want to go home to a dark empty house. Oliver had been partially right. Moving Andy's things had helped a certain amount, but it didn't fix the fact that he was alone, that he was glad to lock up the house every morning and go to work, because when he was around other people, and busy with his job, he could forget how lonely he was. At least for the duration of his shift, he could stop thinking about how much he loathed putting his key in the lock, to hear his footsteps echo through rooms in his house, answered by…nothing. And while it wasn't exactly his ideal situation, he'd actually had a good time that night. It was nice to be around someone who hadn't known him before everything happened with the Bishop case, someone who wasn't constantly waiting for him to fall apart. He swallowed hard, and then nodded again.

"Yeah, you're right." He took a halting step back in the direction they'd come, but stopped when she spoke again.

"Listen, I'm probably going to be up for a while," Green said slowly, waiting for him to look at her before she continued. "I don't have any beer, but I've got coffee. Or water. Not much else," she said with a smile and a shrug, sensing his reticence. "If you're not in a big hurry."

* * *

><p>And that was how Sam found himself walking down a hallway painted a rich cream, feet padding against a thick burgundy carpet. They went up a single flight of stairs, Green talking in hushed tones about the building; about its previous life as a hotel. All of which Sam knew. He'd been to the place a few times over the years to interview witnesses and another time to address a vandalism complaint. Her apartment was the last on the right and when she pushed open the door, he followed her in. He was halfway down the hall before he realized he hadn't removed his shoes and was tracking dirt onto her white carpet, but she dismissed it with a wave of her hand. He took them off anyway. She was way ahead of him, flipping light switches as she moved room to room, and he followed, pausing in the living room.<p>

The apartment was a little small, but there wasn't a lot to clutter it up. For a moment, he wondered where she spent her off-hours. Wherever it was, it wasn't in this apartment. It was clean, but not lived in. There was very little in the way of decoration, not many personal items at all. The furniture looked new and matched and not really her, like she'd flipped through a catalog and just ordered whatever set her finger landed on. A sort of sage-colored chenille-corduroy upholstery and cherry stained tables. The television was small, but the two windows were large, starting about knee height and rising nearly to the ceiling. The built-in shelves held a few stacks of framed photographs she hadn't yet bothered to hang and a couple dozen books. Mostly worn, well-read paperbacks, interspersed with a few intimidatingly thick hardcovers. He ran a finger along the spines, reading the titles – mostly fiction, almost all mysteries.

Sam turned away from the shelves when he heard water running in another room. He followed the sound and stepped into the kitchen. Green was making coffee, hands moving quickly to fill the reservoir, then the filter and then the machine was gurgling and hissing, warming itself up. She opened up a bakery box sitting on the counter and pulled out a donut.

"Want one?" she offered. "I've got a couple left."

He shook his head, wondering not for the first time how someone so small could eat so much, and watched her boost herself up onto the counter. She had the donut half gone in two bites, licking sugar from the tip of a finger.

"Suit yourself." She popped the rest of it into her mouth and then brushed crumbs off her lap.

He scanned the kitchen. It too was bare, except for a few appliances, a set of dishes sitting in the sink. The only thing that had any personality at all was the refrigerator. "Are you subletting, or something?"

"Mhmm." She chewed and swallowed the mouthful. "From a friend of mine," she explained.

Sam nodded; he was still looking at the fridge. She liked to write herself notes. She had a tendency to use her notepad a little more than others he'd ridden with; that was no secret. But he hadn't realized the habit extended to her home-life. Post-its peppered the glossy black surface. "Groceries!" "Transfer $." "Morgan's birthday. Buy present."

"Who's Morgan?" He glanced over his shoulder at her.

Her eyebrows went up in surprise. "My niece."

"Is this her?" he asked, nodding at a picture stuck to the freezer door of a girl maybe 5 or 6, towheaded and brown-eyed.

She nodded. "Yeah." He looked at her again. Green wasn't paying him much attention. She was staring down at the tail of her ponytail, slowly unwinding the hair binder, and then she started combing it out with her fingers until it curled softly past her shoulders.

"When's her birthday?" he asked.

She winced. "Last week." Sam lifted an eyebrow at her and she rolled her eyes in response. "I've had a lot on my mind, okay?"

"Lot of that going around," Sam said as he walked over and rested against the small bit of counter next to her. She had her hands on the fake-granite, fingers wrapped around the edge and he was careful not to lean against them. He looked to his right at the coffee pot that was still chugging along and then turned back to Piper when she cleared her throat.

"So, what happens tomorrow?" she asked. "With the sting, I mean."

"Probably more of the same," he replied vaguely. When she didn't say anything, he glanced over.

She was staring down at her palms. Ugly scrapes covered the bottoms, right above her wrist; red, angry marks from when she'd broken her fall. She saw him looking, and turned her hands over, rubbed them over her legs. "I'm fine. They just burn a little."

"You should clean those," he said, then glanced down at her knees. There was a tiny spot of blood staining her jeans. "Knees too."

Green nodded. "Yeah, I will." Still, she didn't move, except to rub her fingers over one of them. "Can I ask you a question," she asked suddenly. Her voice was quiet, as hesitant as he'd heard her, but he yawned and then bobbed his head, eyes on the floor. "Why are you so sad all the time?"

He actually smiled at that, a very quick quirk of lips. He glanced over at her. "You noticed that, huh?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I don't think an Academy Award is in your future." She swung her leg, tapping his thigh with the edge of a small, high-arched foot. "So?"

Sam shook his head. There was no way to get it down to a sentence, and truthfully, he wasn't even sure he'd tell her if he could. "I'm working on it," he finally said after a beat.

There was a long pause and Sam listened to the coffee maker spit and sizzle and then the timer went off, but next to him, Green stayed put. He turned to her, eyebrows raised in question at the blurry, thoughtful look on her face.

"You know what might help?" she asked after another couple of seconds, tilting her head a little as she looked at him.

He smiled. "What's that?"

"This," she mumbled quietly, then reached out and got her fists around the lapels of his jacket and pulled him into her.

With no warning at all, she kissed him, nothing tentative about it. Half a word of protest made it out before her lips were on his. For a second, the length of a blink, the amount of time it took to sigh, Sam let himself get lost in the comfort of another mouth against his own. But when she mistook his hesitation for acceptance and kissed him again, he jerked away, hands hard against her denim-covered thighs, pushing himself away, mouth pulling from hers with a quiet _smack_.

"What is it?" Piper asked, voice barely a whisper as she widened her brown eyes. "Was that not okay?" Her hands were still on his jacket and he reached up, and unwrapped her fingers from around it

Sam backed away and ran both hands over his head, inhaling deeply before striding from the room. He heard her land heavily on the floor as she hopped off the counter, then the sound of her calling his name. His shoes were where he'd left them, and he picked them up, not even bothering to put them on before he reached for the door knob. He'd just gotten his hand around it when he heard her right behind him.

"Sam. What's wrong?"

He breathed out a short, almost embarrassed laugh, and then hung his head a little as he turned to face her. "I just can't, okay?"

"Why not?" she asked, a frown line running between her brows. A simple enough question, but the answer was so incredibly un-simple, and he'd had just enough to drink to make it difficult.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Fuck. I need to sober up," he muttered.

"Just tell me," Green said, then looked at him, confused. "I mean, are you not…" She folded her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. "Look, I know you like me. So, what's the problem?" And that of course was exactly it. He _did_ like her, more than he ever expected to. But she was all wrong. From the shape of her eyes to the shade of her skin. She wore the wrong perfume, and her smile was pretty, but wasn't pretty enough to make his heart race.

He exhaled loudly and reached behind him, finding the door knob on the first try. He turned it and moved out of the way, opening it. Before he stepped through, he looked back at her and shook his head. "It's not you. It's just not gonna happen." And then he left, closing the door solidly behind him. It took him exactly twelve seconds to leave the building and get out onto the street. Once there, he sucked in a heavy breath and closed his eyes for a few seconds, fingers rubbing at his forehead, over his eyes. As he felt the world spin under his feet, he opened them again. And then he inhaled deeply one last time and stuck his hand in his pocket, pulled out his cell phone.

Oliver answered on the third ring, sounding groggy and half-asleep.

"What?"

"I need a ride."

* * *

><p>Parade the next morning was an ordeal. Not because of the assignments; the bait car sting was still on deck for the day. More because after only two and a half hours of sleep, every tick of the clock was like a kick-drum in his head, and each time Best raised his voice, Sam wished that he'd called in sick. And he was definitely regretting the bowl of cereal he'd unwisely settled on for breakfast that morning; his stomach was tossing it around like a balloon in a hurricane. On the imaginary list of things he was getting too old for, all night drink-a-thons were definitely rising toward the top. If Piper felt even half as awful as he did, they were in for a long day. And she wasn't exactly looking her best. He shot a glance over at her in the corner of the room. Green was even more pale than usual, freckles standing out in stark contrast to her white skin, and she was clutching at a bottle of water, taking tiny, conservative sips every few minutes. She was sitting bolt-upright in her chair, and every now and again, when things got loud, she'd close her eyes, forehead creasing as she winced. Yeah, definitely a fun day ahead of them.<p>

When Best dismissed them, she was out and down the stairs in a shot, but Sam waited until most of the room had emptied before stepping through the doorway. Once on the main floor, he was met by Epstein.

"Ready when you are, Sir."

"Excuse me?"

Epstein glanced over his shoulder toward the wire room. "Well, Green said she'd trade for the day. Give me a chance to take down a couple car thieves." He grinned. "If she wants to spend the day alone in a room with Gail, I'll let her." He leaned close, got his voice down, like he had a secret to share. "Besides, she looks like she's about to hurl." Sam looked over through the windows of the wire room. Green was already perched carefully on the edge of her chair, white-knuckling a set of headphones lying on the desk in front of her, deliberately keeping her eyes forward as Gail stared her down, using her heel against the floor to swivel her chair slowly back and forth.

"Swarek's not looking so hot himself," a voice said, behind him and Sam turned. Callaghan stood there, crisp and clean, raising his eyebrows as he took a sip of his coffee. He glanced up at the wire room, and then back at Sam, a smug expression on his face. "You two have a late night?"

Sam gave him a hard stare. "We weren't staking out a hotel room, if that's what you're wondering." Callaghan stiffened, all trace of a smile wiped from his face as he stared down at him. The two glared at each other, hostility emanating from the both. Then, from across the room, Barber called out for Luke and he lifted his head, giving Jerry an answering nod. He gave Sam one last glance before stepping away, moving slowly across the room.

"Asshole," Sam muttered before turning back to Epstein.

Dov raised his eyebrows. "That was intense."

Sam gave him a look of caution. "Get ready and wait in the parking lot."

As Epstein hustled towards the equipment room, Sam made a stop at the coffee station and then headed into the wire room. Green took one look at him and turned back around, facing the desk. Gail just raised her eyebrows, a curious smile spreading across her face.

Sam didn't even let her get a word in. "Beat it, Peck."

She looked up at him. "But sir…"

He raised his eyebrows at her. "You can sit here all day, or you can ride with Epstein. Your choice."

Gail looked between him and Piper for a second or two, and then was up and out of her chair in the next instant. As she walked out the door, Sam stepped up to the desk. Green had refilled her water and there was a clear plastic bottle of aspirin sitting next to it.

"Here," he said tiredly, stretching his arm out toward her as he sank into Peck's chair.

Green looked at the paper cup he held. "I'm good, thanks."

He set it on the desk next to her. "Take it. You look like hell."

"You're not winning any beauty contests either," she muttered under her breath, but after half a minute, she nudged the full bottle of aspirin a few inches closer to him.

"Already medicated," he said through a yawn, propping his head up on a hand.

* * *

><p>Neither of them said anything to each other for the rest of that first hour. The only words spoken were into the radio to the two patrol cars circling within range of the bait car. Finally, after a few of the passersby had peered into the car, none of them touching or opening it, Sam looked over at Piper. She saw the movement and turned her chair a few degrees the other direction.<p>

"I think I like you better drunk," he said, because he knew it'd piss her off.

"Clearly you don't," she said, totally ice cold.

"Look," he began, voice low for some inexplicable reason. But he was cut off by the alarm. Green turned to the monitors and hit the switch silencing the steady beep that had begun the instant the doors were breached.

"Looks like we got somebody," she said, suddenly all business. Sam rolled his eyes but reached for the handset, keeping his attention on the screen.

"Got two in the car. Heading south on Sherbourne."

He waited maybe ten seconds before he heard Nash respond. "We're on our way. Go ahead and shut it down."

Sam looked at Piper. "You wanna do the honors?"

She nodded. "Definitely." She reached out and hit the kill switch with her thumb. Her smirk split into a smile as the car slowed to a stop and they watched as the occupants started getting twitchy on the dash cam. "This is the fun part," she said as they started rattling the door handles, panicking when they couldn't get out.

"Best hangover cure ever," Sam said, grinning back as he got back on the radio. After he'd spoken to both cars and watched as the two kids – and they were really kids, not more than 16, either of them – were hauled out of the car by Shaw and Peck, he set the radio down and leaned back in his seat, crossing his ankle over his knee.

"Listen," Piper said, her voice cautious, stopping altogether when he looked up at her. But she took a breath and continued. "I'm sorry, okay? About last night. I mean, obviously, you've got issues, and I shouldn't have…." She licked her lips. "I don't usually do that. It wasn't like I was planning -"

"I know" he said, cutting off whatever else she'd been about to say. "It's okay."

Instead of being annoyed, she looked relieved. A very slight blush rose up onto her cheeks and she looked away. But it wasn't enough, Sam knew. Not the way her pencil skittered away when she reached for it.

"It's not you," he said, realizing only after he'd said it how completely lame it sounded. Her unamused glance only confirmed it. "I just…" He tapped his thumb against the desk, keeping his eyes on it though he knew she was watching him, waiting for him to explain. "I'm sort of involved in something with somebody else."

She snorted. "Swarek, I'm with you what? Forty-five, fifty hours a week? I think I'd know if you were seeing someone."

"Hey, I didn't even know you were married," he pointed out.

She made a face. "Barely married."

"Yeah, well," he lifted his hands helplessly and then let them fall back to the desk.

There were a few minutes then when neither of them spoke. Epstein and Peck radioed back to say they were en route to the barn, bringing the suspects back to booking, and Oliver checked in once to say he was trading the bait car. Once inside, he tapped the dash cam and gave them a wave. Then he fiddled with the radio until he found a station he liked and got on the road.

Throughout this, Green was leaned back in her chair with her feet up on the desk, earphones slung around her neck as she finally picked up the coffee, long cold, and sipped at it. The music inside the car crackled out of the headphones, something loud and fast and she rocked her foot in time to the music for a few beats before she looked over at him.

"So who is it?" He ignored her and pulled out the log, double-checking times and codes. "Not Peck," she guessed, a smile in her voice. "You'd end up killing each other. Maybe Diaz?" she suggested, bursting into laughter at the look on his face. "What? He's _pretty_," she said, muscles around her eyes twitching a little in pain. She fumbled on the desk for the small plastic bottle.

"Yeah, well, he's not exactly my type," Sam said, fiddling with the knobs on the radio.

"So?" she asked again, swiveling on her chair a little as she sucked down her ice-cold coffee and tossed a couple of aspirin into her mouth. "Hey, you know all about my baggage," she argued when he didn't answer.

"Andy's not baggage, okay?" he said, looking at her seriously.

"Andy?" Green said, suddenly frozen in place. Her feet fell to the floor and she sat up a little straighter, digging in her heels to walk her chair half a foot closer. "Andy McNally?" Her eyes narrowed. "Your old partner?"

Sam didn't nod, didn't say anything. He just bent over, got his elbows on his knees and sat there,

"Isn't she supposed to be in Witness Protection?"

"How do you know that?" Sam asked sharply, not moving a muscle other than to lift his eyes to hers.

Green gave him a disappointed look. "Jerry practically told me himself that night in the van. And it's kind of obvious. I mean, she's your witness and she's not here." Then something else occurred to her. "You're not in contact with her, are you? You could both get into a lot of trouble if anyone -"

"We're not," Sam snapped, a little more harshly than he intended, feeling a small bit of remorse when she flinched. He rubbed his eyes and then sat up. "I haven't heard from her since they took her away, alright?"

Green was watching him, teeth worrying her lower lip as she rolled her chair another foot closer, and her voice dropped again as she glanced at the open door and back to him. "Listen, Swarek. I know you know that people who go into Protection… They don't usually come back."

He gave her a quick nod and exhaled loudly, lacing his fingers behind his head as he leaned back. "I know."

"No wonder you're sad," she said, looking at him with an expression that was far too close to pity for his comfort. He didn't respond. "So, how long are you gonna wait for her?"

He gave a short, quiet laugh as he turned away. That was the question after all. How long was he going to continue to put himself through it? It was what everyone around him was wondering, what they had been wondering for months. But for him, the answer was the same as it was the night she disappeared. "As long as it takes, I guess."

He could practically hear Green roll her eyes. "That's so sweet, it makes my teeth hurt," she said, grinning when he looked over.

Sam reached out and gave her chair a shove. "Shut up."

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>May 18 (Friday)<strong>

Andy let out a tired breath as she pushed the door shut behind her, smiling as she bent to greet Brody. He stayed at her side as she kicked off her heels and moved through the house, pausing momentarily as she heard a sort of scuffling noise coming from her dad's room. But the door was shut, light was shining through the crack at the floor, and after a second's hesitation, she turned away and walked into her own room.

The dog was pushing at her as she changed, head butting against her thigh as he tried to urge her towards the door.

"In a second, buddy." Andy snagged a pair of jeans hanging over the end of her bed and tugged them up, then exchanged her blouse for a T-shirt and hoodie. Scanning the floor, she picked up one sneaker, and then caught sight of the other peeking out from underneath her bed. As she reached in to grab it, her hand brushed against the cool metal of the lockbox and she stilled for just an instant, glancing over her shoulder to the door, making sure she was still alone.

She grasped the handle of the box firmly and towed it out from under the bed. The key was ripped from its hiding place and inserted and finally, the lid was flung back and Andy stared down at the contents.

Lying on top was an intricate background check on one Cameron James Brinn – the guy who'd given Rebecca trouble at the bar. Stone had emailed it to her within days of her request and Andy had poured over it, gleaning almost nothing of interest. He lived in the next town over, had a few old DUI's on his record, but both were at least ten years old. Other than that, he was clean. No mention of assault, no domestics, not even a speeding ticket. Included was a short list of known associates, family and friends, also past known residences, employment history, and credit history.

Stone had been thorough, but she still hadn't come through on her promise to get info on Sam. Andy was beginning to suspect she was holding out on her purposely, hoping she'd forget about it. Unlikely. She'd been hoping to get that information before next week, but it wasn't necessary. Everything was already in motion, as far as Andy was concerned. She lifted the bundle of papers, set them aside, and then reached in again. Underneath her Glock was a thick padded envelope, about half the size of a sheet of paper. She pulled it out, holding it between her hands, thumb tracing over the "k" at the end of the addressee's name. She inhaled deeply through her nose, and for the fiftieth time in the last two weeks, started scrolling through the plan in her head.

It was actually embarrassingly simple. It required a couple of tanks of gas, a stamp, and time. It also required an alibi, which was why she was waiting until next weekend. Her job had provided her with a ready-made excuse to be away from town, and away from her house. It was shocking how easy the lies came to her now. Her dad and Stone thought she'd be at a work function; Riley and Rebecca thought she'd be visiting family.

Brody yawned, pawing at the carpet next to her leg, and then started to push at her, whining.

"Alright, one second," she said, grabbing her purse off the bed. She reached in and pulled out a bank envelope stuffed with a few hundred dollars, then tossed it into the lock box. She crammed the envelope and the report back in on top of it, and then shoved the whole thing back under the bed until it hit her duffel bag; already packed and ready to go. Everything was falling into place, just like she'd imagined it. But this was only phase one. The real work came later; after she got back, after the package found its recipient.

* * *

><p>Five minutes later, she was walking around the side of the house, leash stuffed into the pocket of her sweatshirt as Brody disappeared into the woods ahead of her. Andy followed him, but paused briefly at the edge of the brush and frowned. She reached out, fingers grasping and thumb pressing against the sharp broken end of a thin branch. It had been snapped off at shoulder height and she glanced around, looking for more. Right behind it was another branch at about the same height; a small thin piece hung from strip of bark. Like someone had grasped it and just twisted it between their fingers. And recently, too. Andy ran her lower lip through her teeth as she tried to subdue the automatic paranoia that swept over her. It had been a long time since she'd felt that mix of panic and fear, and she struggled to control it. There were a dozen things that could have broken those branches, but at the moment, she could only think of one. She scanned the tree-line, peering over at her neighbor's yard, and past it to the ones further down the block. No one was around.<p>

Andy started a bit when she heard Brody bark from somewhere deeper in the trees. She picked through the forest, stepping carefully over rotting logs, ducking under a tree that leaned at a low grade, keeping an eye out for wildlife until she came to a small clearing. Not even ten meters across, it was strewn with a heavy blanket of wet decaying leaves deposited the fall before, and in the center was a roundish pit, filled with the charred, damp remains of a fire.

She'd been to this place before, more than once, but never had she ever seen evidence of any other trespassers; no footprints, no garbage, nothing at all. Andy crouched down and studied the pit. What was left of the wood had been soaked through by last night's rain and had stayed wet because of the thick canopy of branches stretching overhead; even now only a few thin rays shone down. But there was no real way to tell how old it was. The ashes once piled around the logs had been turned into a soggy soup, peppered with pieces of burned paper, blackened beer cans. She pushed herself to her feet and stepped around it, taking note of the discarded glass bottles. Brody was practically dancing from side to side, watching her with a wide smile, tongue hanging out as he waited for his praise. Andy gave him a quick, distracted scratch behind the ears as she scanned the ground. The footprints had been beaten away, any clue to who or how many reclaimed by time and the weather. Somewhere a ways off, she heard something; a rustling that ceased as soon as her head came up and she stiffened.

Andy'd never felt any sort of apprehension about walking here before, never once felt like there was any reason to be fearful. But right now, she felt eyes on her. Beside her, Brody tensed, muscles bunched, ready to run. She curled her hand in his collar, fist loose around the strip of yellow nylon as she watched the trees move across the clearing, as she watched the leaves shiver. And then she tightened her grip on the dog and remained motionless as she watched a deer duck under a chest-high branch. The doe caught sight of her immediately and froze, ears up and open, dark eyes staring in alarm.

Beside her, a growl was curling in Brody's throat and Andy gave his collar a gentle shake.

"Knock it off," she whispered. He didn't. If anything, he got more antsy. He tugged against her, wanting to start the chase.

Across the clearing, the deer stepped out of the trees, bounding quickly over the wet ground, and behind her, a smaller, spotted fawn followed, scampering behind on knobby-kneed, spindly legs. They both kept their eyes on the dog as they crossed, disappearing through the trees and over a small hill in mere seconds.

It took a few moments, but eventually, the spell was broken. Andy pulled the leash out and snapped the clip onto Brody's collar, wrapping it around her hand and keeping it short until they'd moved closer to the house. Twice, Brody tried to turn back, to follow the deer, but Andy spoke sharply to him, and steered him back towards the lawn. She didn't take the leash off until the garage door was shut firmly behind them, and even then he whined a little, front paws digging at the cement floor. She ignored the begging and walked up the stairs, holding the door open until he finally ran up after her and into the house.

The door was locked, the alarm set, and Andy hung her jacket and leash behind the door. She was digging around in the refrigerator, pulling out what was left of a chicken and a jar of mayonnaise for a sandwich when she heard Tommy walk into the room. She spun around, a greeting dying on her lips when she saw the box tucked under his arm.

"What's going on?"

"Andy, I didn't hear you come home." Tommy set the box on the table. "Wanna give me a hand with some of this?" He turned and started walking back to his room and Andy followed after him, strides long until she hit the doorway. She stopped, hands hard on the door frame as she stared. There were boxes stacked up against the wall, and a large hard-backed suitcase snapped closed and lying on the bed. Andy looked at her dad with accusing eyes.

"What the hell is going on?" she asked again.

Tommy sank down on his bed, hands rubbing down his thighs as he looked over at her.

"I'm moving out."

"What?" Her eyebrows shot up and her arms dropped to her sides. "Why?"

"Honey…" He looked at her, kind, but like she should know the answer already. "It's time."

She took a few steps inside, was enveloped by the warm spicy scent of his aftershave, and then folded her arms as she watched him. "What do you mean?"

He turned towards her a little, knee hooked up on the mattress. "Look, you're doing great. You don't need me here anymore, and we're trippin' over each other. This is your house and you need your own space. We both do."

Andy frowned, tightening her arms around herself as she rocked anxiously between the balls of her feet. "You should have told me you were planning this."

Tommy pushed himself up. "I wasn't. I just heard about an opening in the building today, and I thought it was a good time." He walked up and tipped his head, trying to read her expression. "You're upset?"

Andy blinked at him and then, as the shock wore off, she realized she wasn't. She shook her head. "No. Not really. Just surprised." And a little uncomfortable. The thought of being alone in the house without another person moving around, making noise, was making her heart pound a little, especially after what she'd just seen in the woods. As much as she griped about it, having him there had been reassuring; someone else to keep an eye on things, to help with Brody, to keep her safe. But he was right. He deserved his privacy. And she'd adapt, however she had to.

He nodded as he turned back to the dresser and started pulling things off the top, depositing them into yet another box. "It'll be strange for a while, but I'll still be around. Just a few blocks away really."

Andy leaned against the wall. "Where?"

"Actually, one of the apartments above the store. One of the tenants moved out, and Bobby offered the place to me at a discount." He gave her a wry smile. "Sort of reminds me of my old place, you know?"

She nodded, still getting her mind around the whole thing. "So, you're moving tonight?" She glanced around. Not that there was a whole lot to move. A couple of car-loads maybe.

He nodded. "Yeah, I thought I'd just take this stuff over. Tomorrow, I'm gonna borrow a truck to get my chair and the furniture out of the garage."

She tucked her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. "Well, did you want some help? I've got a little time."

He nodded and pushed a box into her arms. "Yeah, thanks. Big plans tonight?"

She shook her head as she walked out of the room ahead of him. "Nope." Andy set the box on the floor near the door and looked at him. "Maybe I could get us a pizza and then I could come over. You know, see your new place, get you settled in or whatever."

He shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I probably won't finish. I'm supposed to meet some of the guys in a couple hours."

She looked down at her watch. "It's already almost seven. Kinda late for you to be going out isn't it?"

He gave her a smile and gave her shoulder a very quick squeeze as they walked back to the bedroom. "Honey, I love you. But you're cramping my style."

* * *

><p><strong>May 19 (Saturday)<strong>

"I'm_ cramping his style_?" Andy poured coffee into two cups and passed one across the island to Riley. "Do people even _say _that anymore?"

"You do know what time it is right?" Riley mumbled around a yawn as he lifted the cup to his mouth.

Andy glanced over at the clock above the stove. Green digital numbers shone back at her. 8:19 AM. She rolled her eyes and then leaned back against the counter, mug held between her hands. "Yeah, sorry about that," she muttered.

Truthfully, she hadn't even looked at the clock before coming over. She'd rolled out of bed without an alarm, showered, eaten breakfast and then put on her shoes. A few minutes later, she and Brody were standing on Riley's back step waiting for him to answer the door. He'd shown up after three rings of the doorbell, hair stuck up all over the place, face still foggy with sleep, tugging a T-shirt down over his chest. But he'd let her in with little more than a yawn, and followed her into the kitchen still half asleep.

"What do you think he meant, anyway?"

Riley propped his head up in his hand. "Sounds like he's getting laid," he mumbled with a smirk

Andy just stared at him, a look of discomfort crossing her face. "No," she said slowly, narrowing her eyes. "No way."

He took a drink. "Maybe he's thinking about it."

Andy stared at him for a few seconds and then shook her head. "There's no way," she said again. "I'd know if he was dating." Then she narrowed her eyes in sudden uncertainty. "Wouldn't I?"

Riley shrugged, got both his elbows up on the counter and ran his hands through his hair, groaning a little as he tried to wake himself up. "I don't know. Do you tell him every single detail about your personal life?"

Andy snorted. "Yeah, right." He raised his eyebrows at her and gave her a patient, tired smile. "Oh," she said quietly, nodding twice. "Well, he could talk to me about it. I mean, I'd want to hear if he was seeing someone."

Brody walked up and laid his head on Riley's thigh. He looked down, gave him a scratch behind the ears. "Maybe he's just waiting until there's something to talk about."

"Maybe." Andy dug her phone out of her pocket. No missed calls. "Hey," she said, waiting until Riley looked up at her. "You haven't talked to Rebecca in the last couple of days, have you?" When he shook his head, her eyebrows drew together and she tucked the phone back into her pocket. "I talked to her on Tuesday, and she said she'd take me car shopping this weekend, but I haven't heard from her since then."

"Trading in the Escort, huh?"

Lucy wandered into the kitchen, pressed her side up against Andy's leg. She ran her fingers through the hair on her back, giving her a good rub. "Actually, I'm selling it to my dad. It'll be easier than sharing, especially now that we aren't living together anymore. I've got a little set aside for a down payment."

"What are you getting?" Riley asked, standing up and moving around the island to the sink. He stepped over Lucy who was now lying on the floor at Andy's feet, completely unconcerned about the people moving around her, then he turned on the tap and rinsed his cup out then put it in the dishwasher.

"Don't know yet. Something bigger." She nudged Lucy, and when she flipped onto her back, used her foot to rub her belly. "So, Rebecca?"

Riley leaned back against the island, facing her as he shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. I haven't seen her."

"But you guys talk all the time. Aren't you worried?"

His eyes were on at the floor and his mouth tipped up at the corner. "Ah, no. Not worried."

"Are you two mad at each other or something?" Andy asked. He didn't answer. "Hey."

He lifted his head then, and made a face. "I'm not mad at her. And I don't know. She's probably just busy. She's not exactly good at sitting still, you know."

"Yeah, I got that." Andy chewed on her lip for a second, watching his face. "How come you two aren't together?" she asked bluntly. It was a question she'd considered asking maybe a dozen times; she'd talked herself out of it each time, for whatever reason. But right this second, her curiosity got the better of her.

Riley's head snapped toward her, fixed her with a stony look. "It's a long story," he said again after a pause.

Andy shoved her hands in her pockets. "But, you have feelings for her." He rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. You do. It's so obvious." Riley folded his arms across his chest, and was suddenly very interested in whatever was going on out the window behind her. "Riley," Andy prodded.

He shifted his gaze to hers. "Look, maybe I used to. But she wasn't interested."

"Well, maybe if you just told her-"

"I did," he said brusquely, as annoyed as she'd ever heard him. "She shot me down. Twice."

"When?" Andy asked cautiously. His fingers were drumming against his bicep and for a long moment, it looked like he'd rather kick her out than answer any more questions, but then he took a deep breath and opened his mouth.

"Maybe eight months after Julie left. And again a month after that." He reached up and scratched the side of his head. "It was a while back anyway." Andy stood quietly for a moment. It was the first time Riley had ever mentioned his ex to her, and she was feeling an overwhelming urge to ask him more about her. But she put a pin in it.

"Did Rebecca say why?"

Riley shook his head. "Not really." He smiled unhappily. "She just started setting me up with every single female she ran into. I don't know if she was trying to distract me, or just… I don't know. Make herself feel better, alleviate a little guilt. Take your pick. Either way…" He shook his head. "I'm done with it."

"Well…" Andy took a deep breath and then continued, her voice a little more tentative, cautious. "Maybe you should, you know." She shrugged. "Try again?"

Riley gave her a tight smile and then went back to looking out the window. "I don't think so."

"Why not?" She waited until his eyes bounced to hers once and then away again. "I mean, you said it yourself. There's always something you can do, right?"

"Abby…" He ran a hand over his face, suddenly looking even more tired than he had a moment before. "It's not the same situation, okay? And anyway, things are different now."

"Different how?" she pressed.

Riley shook his head and pushed off the counter. He walked slowly back to the hallway leading down to the bathroom, but stopped when she took a step towards him, and asked again.

"Different how?"

His hand was against the wall, fingers curving around the sharp edge of the corner and he spoke, his voice quiet and slow. "Things don't work out the way you want them to…" He shrugged, giving his head a little shake. "You get over it. I mean, you gotta move on, right?" he finished, looking back at her.

Andy frowned at him, images of Sam flying through her head, every picture, every memory she had left, whizzing by in the blink of an eye. She shook her head. "Maybe some people do."

It took a second, but he smiled at that, a wry, almost bitter smile. "Yeah, well… I'm getting in the shower. I'll see you later, okay?" He walked away without an answer, and when the bathroom door shut a little more firmly than she was expecting, Andy jumped.

* * *

><p>She finally caught up to Rebecca later that afternoon. In fact, Andy ran out of the house to catch her when she saw her van pull into the driveway across the street. Rebecca had gotten called into the hospital to do a stat test a sometime in the early morning and had just stayed for her normal weekend half-shift. She'd looked about as happy to see her as Riley had, but she'd gone inside, splashed some water on her face and changed out of her scrubs, ready for action. After a quick stop at her mother's house to pick up the kids, they headed out again. They bypassed every other dealership in town, and drove straight to the biggest one on the main drag. When Andy asked why, Rebecca gave her a small conspiratorial smile and simply explained, "I know a guy."<p>

They'd been prowling the lot for the better part of an hour, peering in through windows, calling out salesmen to pop hoods or open doors. Rebecca was her usual bubbly self for the most part, except for a very thin veil of fatigue that overlaid her features. She'd had one eye on AJ and Maddie, hand in hand ducking between the cars, and the other on her watch. Right now, they were moving between a dark blue 4Runner and a black Escape, Maddie was firmly attached to Rebecca's leg when Andy looked over and cleared her throat.

"So, I was talking to Riley this morning…"

"Oh, yeah?" Rebecca said distractedly, not even looking at her. She bent close to the Escape, looked inside for what was probably the fourth time.

Andy swallowed, trying to look nonchalant. "Is something going on with you two?"

Rebecca threw her a look. "Nothing more than usual. Why do you ask?"

Andy lifted a shoulder. "You've just been kind of…absent lately. I didn't know if you were avoiding him. Or me," she added as an afterthought.

Rebecca shook her head. "I've been on call the last six nights, Abby. I'm tired." She reached down and pulled Maddie up off her leg, and heaved her up onto her hip.

"Well, I guess I was just curious about why you two aren't…you know," she began, giving AJ a passing glance as she sat on the bumper of the car next to them, finally bored with the whole outing. "Why you aren't a couple," she finished, her volume lowered a touch. Rebecca stiffened a little, eyes dancing over to meet Andy's for an instant.

"I don't want to talk about that."

"Right now? Or ever?"

"It's not your business, Abby."

Andy stared at her for a second, eyebrows up, and then she snorted. "You've asked me a hundred inappropriate personal questions. I think I'm entitled to one."

Rebecca took a breath, looking for a moment like she was going to answer, but then her face quickly morphed into a wide smile and she stepped away to meet the guy in the suit that had just walked out of the building and onto the lot.

"Hey, Steve." She set Maddie down and reached up and gave him a quick hug and then stepped back and turned to Andy. "This is my friend Abby McAllister." They exchanged pleasantries, shook hands and Steve looked past them at the Escape.

"Interested in the Ford?"

Andy, tucked her hands into her back pockets. "I'm trying to decide between this one and the Jeep in the back."

He smiled at her. "Well, let me go get the keys, and we'll take them both on a test drive." He looked down at AJ and Maddie who were standing in shyly in the middle of the circle. "I think the receptionist has a plate of cookies inside, if you two are interested." They were interested. As Steve walked away, AJ and Maddie at his heels, Rebecca called after him.

"Steve? How's your mom?"

He gave her a weird look. "Fine I guess, why?"

Rebecca smiled innocently at him. "I was just wondering if she ever found out what happened to that antique vase of hers that disappeared our senior year."

"No," he said loudly, shaking his head at her. "You're not using that one on me again."

"Hey, if you don't want to get invited to Thanksgiving this year, just say the word." She looked at him, totally serious. "I'm sure someone can sneak you out a plate of leftovers."

He stared at her, shaking his head in frustration, and then he jabbed a finger in the air at her. "This is the last time. You shop somewhere else next time."

She smiled sweetly and waved. "See you in a few minutes." Andy watched, puzzled as he and the girls headed back inside and then turned to Rebecca, a questioning look on her face.

"What the hell was that about?"

Rebecca smirked. "That was me getting you a discount. You can thank me later." She pulled her purse around and started digging through it while they waited for Steve to return. Andy was still staring at her, and Rebecca let out a peal of laughter. "Seriously, relax. He's my cousin. And Aunt Janet holds a grudge for a long time. She loved that vase," she said with a grin.

Andy felt herself smiling back. Rebecca wrapped her arms around her middle and looked out towards the street. She was relaxed, face tipped up to the sun.

"So, what about Riley?" Andy asked, sinking down onto the bumper of the Escape. All trace of a smile fell away from Rebecca's face, and after shooting her a dirty look, she walked around to the side of the SUV and leaned against it, ignoring her. "I'm going to keep asking, so you might as well just tell me," Andy warned, hiding a smile when Rebecca shot her another irritated glance. Then she dropped her sunglasses down and tried to sound casual as she spoke.

"It's not that interesting, alright? It just wouldn't have worked."

"That's stupid," Andy argued. "I mean, you get along great, you clearly care about each other, so what's the issue?"

Rebecca dropped her purse, letting it swing from her shoulder and hit the side of the SUV with a muffled thud. "That's just…history, or whatever. There are other things to think about."

"Like what?"

"We just aren't the same people. I mean, I'm running around like a lunatic half the time, trying to keep it all together, and he's…" She took a breath. "He's not, okay? So, just drop it."

Andy looked at her, eyes widening as she took in the half-devastated expression on Rebecca's face, the defensive way she was standing with her shoulders sort of slumped forward, arms tight across her chest.

"Oh my God," she said quietly.

Rebecca's eyes snapped to hers. "What?"

"You think he's too good for you," Andy said, staring at Rebecca in a sort of disbelief.

"Abby…" Rebecca said, her voice tired, but still holding a note of warning. "Just leave it alone, okay?"

"No." Andy circled around the vehicle and stood behind the side view mirror, watching her carefully. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

"Where the hell is Steve?" the blonde woman muttered under her breath.

"Rebecca," Andy said sharply, waiting until she'd turned her head and focused on her before continuing. "What's the deal?"

Rebecca tucked her hair behind her ear as she leaned back against the Escape and then refolded her arms. She squinted in the sunlight as she looked across the lot, as she inhaled slowly, deeply. "Is it really that crazy?" she asked, her voice low, obviously strained. "I mean, he's a doctor."

Andy rolled her eyes and leaned closer, got a forearm up on the mirror. "He deworms poodles. He's not curing cancer."

"Yeah, well…" Rebecca looked down at the ground, her shoe across a crack in the asphalt. "He owns that clinic he works at, did he tell you that?" When Andy shook her head, a flicker of a smile passed over her face. "It used to be his dad's, but when he transferred it over to him, Riley basically rebuilt the whole thing from the ground up. I couldn't ever do anything like that." She sniffed a little and scratched her head. "I'm not special, okay? I mean, AJ and Maddie and I… We get by, but I'm not exactly going places. I'm never going to make a ton of money or anything."

"Hey, he's not rich either," Andy argued. "And even if he was, I don't really see him caring about that kind of thing."

"Can we talk about something else?" Rebecca asked, still not looking at her.

"No. I want a real answer."

Rebecca pulled her lower lip through her teeth and tipped her head back against the car. "He'd get bored, alright?"

Andy frowned at her, shifting on her feet as she slowly stepped around the mirror. "What do you mean?"

Her tongue flicked out, wetting her lips nervously, and she glanced at Andy and then away again. "Did he ever tell you about his ex?" When Andy shook her head, Rebecca gave a quick nod. "Yeah, he doesn't really like to talk about her. She's a chef," she said, arching an eyebrow at Andy. "Not bad, actually, but also just really…pretty." She sucked in a breath and looked away. "Pretty, and hyper-organized, and ambitious." She chuckled bitterly. "Sort of like my polar opposite, you know?" Andy was about to argue, but she continued. "They were always going into the city for events she was working, things like that. Networking or whatever. But anyway, Riley was nuts about her; just crazy in love with her."

She nodded, as she watched traffic pass them by on the road. "But when she left, whatever she said, she hurt him really bad. Even months later, he wouldn't talk about it. He wasn't over it. I mean, he said he was, but he didn't smile as much, and he didn't laugh the same. He's a little better now," she said, giving Andy sort of a shy smile. "And you know, at the time, we were just seeing _a lot_ of each other, and the girls… Well, you've seen him with them. They're…" She took a deep breath through her nose as she searched for the word. "They're _attached_. And I knew that if we did it, if we gave it a try, either she'd realize she missed him and come back or he'd get bored and find someone better. Either way, he'd leave, and if that happened…" She gave her head a shake, hoop earrings bouncing and glinting in the sun. "Well, the girls would have been heartbroken."

"Rebecca," Andy said, giving her a knowing look.

Rebecca glared at her. "Fine," she relented. "_I_ would have been heartbroken, okay?" She looked away and pushed her hair back behind her ears. "But at least this way, he'll always be around."

Andy stared at her, waiting until Rebecca finally looked over at her, eyes just a touch wetter than they had been a moment before. "Riley wouldn't do that to you. He'd never leave."

Rebecca snorted, and then used a knuckle to dab at the corner of her eye. She hitched her purse up higher onto her shoulder and took a step forward, then around Andy. "They all leave eventually," Andy heard her say as she stalked past her in the direction of the showroom.

"Wait," Andy said sharply, and Rebecca slowed but didn't look back. "All that happened a long time ago, and you've been touchy for the last month, not just this week. Why now?"

Rebecca looked down at the ground for a second, and Andy saw her wet her lip before she slowly turned around to face her. "Because he doesn't look at me the way he used to. And I know I totally deserve it. I mean, I pushed him away." She took a heavy, shuddery breath. "I just didn't realize how much I'd miss it."

Andy blinked at her, but when she opened her mouth, searching for something to say, no words came out. Rebecca gave her a sad smile, and then backed away, turning mid-stride toward the building.

* * *

><p>Andy parked the Escape in her driveway, shooting a look at Rebecca's house. They'd left as soon as Andy sat down to fill out paperwork, and she hadn't heard from Rebecca since. The lights were on inside though, and she imagined her at the stove, mixing up something for her kids, sipping at a glass of wine. Alone. She'd looked so completely miserable in those final moments in the parking lot. And Andy was sure that if they both were just given a little push, things would come together; that they could figure this thing out. So, she was headed back to Riley's, stomach growling the whole way.<p>

"Twice in one day," Riley said raising an eyebrow at her when he opened the door. "Your fridge empty?"

"Funny," Andy said, face bare of expression as he stood back and let her walk in past him. She climbed up onto a stool at the island and dropped her bag on top.

Riley walked back around the other side and went back to unloading his dishwasher. "So, why are you here?" he asked over his shoulder.

Andy gave him a look. "Uh, my fridge is empty. I thought we already established this," she finished with a grin.

He chuckled but didn't turn around. "Well, you know where everything is. Find something."

She went to the fridge and looked around. "Where's that lasagna you were making the other day?"

"Froze it, sorry." His voice was flat. Not exactly cold, but not friendly either. Restrained, maybe; like he was holding himself in.

She straightened and looked at him. "What's up with you?"

He shrugged and started pulling dishes out of the soapy water and loading them into the now-empty racks in the dishwasher. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"Yeah, right," Andy muttered and bent to look inside the fridge again. For a few moments, she contemplated putting together a sandwich and a scoop of potato salad, but in the end, just grabbed a yogurt. She pulled a spoon out of the drawer and leaned back against the counter. After taking a few small bites, she glanced over at Riley. "So really, what's going on?"

Again, he shrugged, running a sponge around the inside of a mug. "Just have some stuff on my mind."

"What kind of stuff?" Andy asked, scraping her spoon along the rim of the yogurt cup. He shrugged but didn't answer. "Stuff like Rebecca?"

He shot her a look. "Not really."

"Okay." Andy stuck a spoonful into her mouth and walked around the island, finally sinking back onto her stool. "Stuff like your ex?" she asked, keeping an eye on him. He stiffened slightly, if it was possible for him to stand any straighter. The rhythm of the sponge around the inside of a large mixing bowl faltered for an instant, but he recovered quickly, giving his head a quick shake.

"Not even a little bit. Why do you ask?"

She took another bite. "You mentioned her this morning. I was just wondering. So, what happened with you two? Julie, right?"

"Nothing interesting."

"Oh, I doubt that," Andy said, trying not to smile when he glanced back over his shoulder at her. "C'mon. Tell me."

He turned around, drying his hands on a towel and then tossed it behind him onto the counter. "You're not the only one who likes to keep your past to yourself, Abby."

She set her empty yogurt container on the countertop and pushed it into the middle of the island, keeping her eyes down as she thought about it for a second, weighing her options. Then as the idea came to her, she raised her gaze to his, narrowing her eyes. "I'll trade you."

"What do you mean?"

Andy shrugged, dropping her arms and trapping her hands between her knees. "Tell me what happened with your ex, and I'll answer one question. Anything you want."

Riley blinked in surprise. "I'm not that curious," he said after a few seconds, though his tone suggested otherwise.

She gave a short laugh. "Yeah, you are."

He took a deep breath and then shook his head a little, like he couldn't quite believe he was falling for it. "She just changed her mind, okay?"

Andy shook her head, hopping down off her stool. She circled around the island and leaned back against it, watching him carefully. "No, I don't buy that. There's gotta be a reason."

He swallowed and folded his arms over his chest. "Julie was a caterer. Well, actually, she's a chef who was working for a catering company."

"She the one that taught you how to cook?"

"Who's telling the story here?" Riley asked, raising his eyebrows at her.

She made a face. "Sorry."

"Yeah, anyway. Maybe six weeks before our wedding, she'd booked this fundraiser in Vancouver and I went along, just to go, you know? There were a bunch of suits there; Businessmen. And this guy comes up while we're taking down one of the tables and starts talking to her. Says he's been to a few functions she'd cooked for, and that he's opening a restaurant in Seattle, and out of nowhere, he offers her a job." Riley gave a short nod, his eyes down, on some minute detail in the wood-grain of a cabinet door behind Andy's knees. "She took it. I mean, I was standing right there, and she didn't even look at me. Just said 'yes'. No 'maybe's', no discussion, no hesitation at all."

Andy bit her lip, watching his face as the memory passed through his mind. He raised his eyes to hers for a second and then took a deep breath. "The timing was just…" He paused. "Well, it could've been better. We'd just bought the house a couple months before, and I'd already sunk a ton of money into renovating the clinic. This was always my plan," he said, raising her eyebrows at her. "To come back to Willow Bend, take over for my dad so he could retire.

"Anyway, we fought about it the whole way home and when I woke up the next morning, I'd pretty much decided that we could figure it out. I went in to work, and started making plans. I called a few people to see what I'd have to do to get the construction finished up quickly, to take care of the house. I even called one of the other doctors to see if he'd keep an eye on things if I had to be out of town a lot." Riley looked down at the floor and crossed one ankle over the other. "But when I got home that night, she'd moved all her stuff out. Everything. All her clothes, her appliances, even her fucking wooden spoons. Just ridiculous," he said with a bitter laugh, rubbing his hand over his jaw.

"She just left?" Andy asked, her voice small and sympathetic.

Riley nodded. "I called her folks and her friends and finally someone told me where she was and I went to see her, but we ended up standing on the steps outside this townhouse screaming at each other. Not exactly my proudest moment," he said, arching an eyebrow in Andy's direction. "But I was all set to keep screaming until she agreed to work it out, and then she told me that she'd been having cold feet for a while, and when this opportunity came up…" He cleared his throat. "She said she was more excited about the idea of a fresh start than she'd ever been at the thought of getting married. And that if she actually loved me as much as she should, she'd be having doubts about taking the job," he said, giving a little shrug.

"But she wasn't," Andy finished for him. He shook his head. Andy swallowed. She wasn't quite sure what to say. She chewed on her lip a little, and ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back behind her ear. "God, Riley. I'm really-"

"Don't." He shook his head. "I'm better off."

She took a deep breath, shifting uncomfortably against the counter. "Do you ever hear from her?"

He shook his head. "Nope."

"You ever wonder if she'll come back?"

"Nope."

"What if she did?" Andy asked, thinking of Rebecca. "I mean, would you consider getting back together with her? You know, if she begged?" she joked weakly. He didn't smile.

Riley was staring at her, eyes narrowed, head tipped back a fraction of a degree, curious. "She wouldn't. From what I hear from friends, she's exactly where she wants to be. And I…" He gave her a small smile. "I'm over her."

"Are you sure?" she asked, eyes wide.

He nodded, smile growing. "Yeah. I'm sure. It's over."

Andy grinned back. "Okay. Good." She reached back and grabbed her bag, got it over her head and shoulder.

"Wait. You're leaving?" Riley asked, pushing off the counter.

Andy flashed a quick smile. "You know me. I like to eat and run. I'll let you get back to that." She waved a hand toward the dishes and took a step over Lucy who was once more, lying flat on the kitchen floor and another towards the entry way. "By the way," she said over her shoulder. "Julie's an idiot. Really."

He smiled again, jamming his hands into his pockets. "Yeah?"

She nodded. "Rebecca thinks so too. She thinks you're great." She looked down, using her feet to pull her shoes off the mat and close enough to step into.

A frown creased his forehead for a second or two and then it was gone. "Can we not talk about Rebecca?"

Andy straightened and her eyebrows shot up. "Why not?"

Riley took a few slow steps toward her. "I already told you one story tonight."

She winced. "Oh yeah, I forgot." She turned around, shoes set aside for the moment. "What's your question?"

"My what?" Riley froze in his tracks and looked at her, genuinely confused.

"Our trade," she reminded him. "You get a question." Andy put her hands on her hips as Riley took one more step, now standing right in front of her. "Ask me anything."

He smiled down at her, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I think I'll save that for another day."

"This is a limited-time offer, buddy." She grinned. "Don't waste it. Hit me."

But he hesitated. One second, then another and another until finally, Andy lifted one of her shoulders in a half-shrug and turned around, wiggling her toes into one of her sneakers. "Your loss."

"Wait."

Andy smiled and turned, a snarky admonishment on her lips.

And then, lightning quick, not even giving her a second to resist, Riley's hands were at her jaw, tilting her mouth up to meet his. The kiss was brief and soft, lasting just an instant, just long enough for Andy to wrap her mind around what was happening, and then she got her hands up against his chest and shoved. Hard.

"What are you _doing_?" she asked, pulling her sweatshirt up higher onto her shoulders, wrapping it tighter around her body.

Riley's eyebrows were up and he was staring at her. "I think it's pretty obvious."

"But _why_?"

His mouth dropped open, but for a second, no sound came out; she just watched a parade of emotion flicker over his face. "I thought…" He laced his fingers behind his head, frustrated. "God," he ground out, dropping his arms. "I guess I don't know what I thought."

Andy just shook her head. It wasn't hard, the rest of her was already shaking, already trembling with rage, with surprise, with panic. She turned her back to him as she reached down and ripped at the laces of her shoes and then jammed her right foot into one.

"Abby, come on."

"How could you do that?" she asked spinning around, face contorted into some amalgamation of disbelief and confusion and anger.

"I'm sorry, okay?"

He was too close. She took a step back, sliding a little on her left as her sock slipped against the slick floor. She just bent down, and dragged her other shoe over. The laces on this one were in knots. She took a couple of seconds to tug at them, but in the end, she just dropped the shoe on the floor and stepped into it, ringing a finger around the heel to get it on. Then she straightened and would have taken a step, but Riley's hand closed around her arm.

"Just wait."

"No." She yanked her arm out of his hand. "What part of 'I have a boyfriend' do you not understand?"

He rolled his eyes. "C'mon Abby. You don't. You have some guy who's too busy with his own life to pay any attention to you. He's probably married or something."

She bit her lip and shook her head, closer to tears than she wanted to admit. "He's not married, okay?"

"Fine, whatever. He's not here. And you've pretty much admitted that you haven't spoken to him in months."

"Yeah, well that's about to change," she snapped. For a second, he just stared at her, face stony with frustration, and then the tension dropped away, and all that was left was a weird sad look of hope.

"Just…please," he said. "Stay. We can figure this out."

Andy looked up at him. "There's nothing to figure out." She took three steps toward the door and then whirled around. "And what about Rebecca? I thought you were crazy about her."

"I told you," he said, taking a step closer. "I _was_ crazy about her."

"Well, what changed?" Andy cried, blinking furiously against the tears that were threatening to well up.

"She didn't want me," he said loudly, holding out his hands, like it ought to be obvious.

Andy clenched her jaw and shook her head; short slow motions. She reached behind her, got her hand wrapped around the doorknob and twisted. "Yeah, well neither do I." Unwilling to see the expression on his face, she spun around then flung the door open and stepped through it, already up to a run by the time she hit the bottom step.

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><p>When she finally let herself into her house, it was long dark, empty. Brody met her at the door with an excited whine and followed her into the kitchen. She stood at the sink, staring out the window into the woods behind the house, mind picking over every detail of the day, wondering where things had gone wrong. Andy took a few deep breaths, and turned around, sinking to the floor. She put her forearms up on her knees as Brody nosed around her ear and then squeezed her eyes shut against the angry tears that were still pricking at her eyes. She tipped her head down, resting her cheek on the backs of her hands.<p>

She really didn't need this. Things were messed up enough as it was. She was literally a week away from making what she hoped would be the best mistake of her life, but with each complication, the stakes were raised. The stress increased, her focus shifted, and now, more than ever, she had to keep her mind on the task at hand. And that was Sam. She sniffed loudly, and then as she heard noise in the garage, Andy swiped at the few tears that had escaped and lurched to her feet as Tommy came barreling through the door, a woman following close behind.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw her.

"Honey, what's wrong?"

She cursed under her breath and then brushed again at her cheeks.

"Nothing, Dad." She gave him a wavering smile. "Who's your friend?"

"Oh, ah…" He flushed, a deep pink rising up his neck as he turned and looked at the woman. She was an inch or two shorter than him with a thick head of dark hair threaded with a generous amount of silver and a pair of whiskey brown eyes. "This is Bobby."

She pushed past, giving him a look, and leaned forward, sticking her hand out. "It's really nice to meet you, Abby. Mike's told me a lot about you."

Andy glanced at her dad who was avoiding her eyes, and then back at Bobby. "Same here," she lied, doing her best to muster up a friendly smile. "So, what are you doing here? I thought you'd be all moved in by now."

"Ah, well, we just came back for the last load." He tipped his head toward the living room. "My chair, and there's still a table out in the garage."

"I think maybe I'll load that up first," Bobby said after observing Andy carefully. She turned to Tommy. "I'll just wait outside and give you two a couple of minutes. Really, Abby. I'm glad to finally meet you," she reiterated with a smile.

Andy nodded, her resolve melting away each passing second. As soon as the door closed, she brought a hand to her face, rubbing her forehead with the heel of her hand.

"Listen, honey. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just wanted to wait until the right time."

"Dad," she started, shaking her head. "It's fine."

"Andy, what happened?" He stepped forward and put his hand on her shoulder, and for a moment, Andy thought he was going to hug her, to comfort her, and she pulled away.

"Dad, you don't want to know, I promise. It's just bullshit anyway." She yanked the fridge door open. She wasn't even hungry anymore. Instead, she pulled out a bottle of water, uncapped it, and took a sip. A little bit dribbled onto her shirt.

"Fuck," she muttered as she brushed at it, scattering droplets onto the floor.

Tommy just kept his eyes on her until finally she grew tired of the scrutiny and started to walk past him into the dining room. He put his hand on her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

"What happened?"

She shook her head. "It's just some stuff going on with me and Riley and Rebecca. It's stupid. High school shit."

"It's serious enough for you to be crying about it."

"I'm just mad, okay?" she said, her voice a little louder than she'd intended. "I had this plan to get them together, and Riley just screwed everything up."

"How?"

"Dad…" she started, squeezing her eyes shut as she looked away.

"Andy, I'm trying okay? Just tell me what happened."

She exhaled loudly, butt up against the counter as she crossed her arms tight across her chest. She reached up and tucked her hair back, suddenly feeling hot, claustrophobic. "I was just over there, and we were talking, and I thought everything was fine. And then…" She pressed her lips together, and shook her head, eyes on the floor. "He kissed me, okay?"

Tommy was leaned back against the wall of cabinets, arms folded; very no-nonsense as he stared at his daughter. "Well, he seems like a nice guy."

"Dad." Andy looked at him through spiky lashes.

"Well, he does. And you've been seeing a lot of each other."

She rolled her eyes and walked out of the room. "We're _friends_," she tossed over her shoulder. "Friends see a lot of each other."

He followed her into the living room. "I'm just saying if you two started something, it might not be the worst thing in the world."

Andy froze in her tracks and spun around slowly.

"I don't _want_ Riley, Dad. I want _Sam_." She said it simply, loudly, each word articulated so there would be no misunderstanding.

"Well you can't _have_ Sam," Tommy said and Andy felt herself start to crumble a little. Stone had been telling her the same thing since the day they'd met, but no one else had ever said it. Her dad, especially, knowing how she felt, knowing how Sam felt, hesitated to bring him up, and definitely had never denied that they should be together. To hear that he agreed was devastating.

She felt the tears well up again, spilling over this time and she glared at him angrily, refusing to wipe them away. Tommy took a step towards her. "Honey, I know you miss him, but this is our life now." She looked away, teeth sunk into her lip. "You've been doing so well, I guess I thought you'd gotten past this."

She pushed out an angry laugh. "Past Sam, you mean." When he nodded, she shook her head. "It's never going to happen," she said, each word dropping from her lips with a surety that shook her. She wasn't kidding. She wasn't being dramatic. In that moment, she knew without a doubt that she would never get over him.

Tommy was getting angry. At her or at the situation, maybe both. But his face was reddening and his words were starting to run together a bit, a little Irish lilt coming out on certain words; left over from his youth, summers spent with his grandmother. It was something that happened only when he was especially irritated. "Andy, it's time to move on. It's been months."

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you," she accused, somehow laughing and crying at the same time. "You waited for years for Mom to come back."

"So, then we agree," he snapped. "I'm pretty much an expert on this subject. Tell me. What happens if you wait another six months, or another five years, and they solve the case, and you go back for trial, and he's with someone else?"

She shook her head and glared at him hard. "He would never _do_ that." But even as she said it, there was a voice of doubt in her head. Five years was a long time.

Tommy's face fell a little and he stepped close again, raising a hand to her face. She smacked it away. "Honey, people get lonely. Especially when they've lost someone."

"_I'm _lonely," Andy croaked in a voice that sounded like she'd swallowed ground glass. "No one here will ever know me like he does. Not Riley, not Rebecca. Not even if I wanted them to. They can _never know._ Do you even realize what that's like?"

He nodded patiently. "I do. That's why it's called starting over. Brand new person. They're not supposed to know the old one."

"But the old one is still here. And the old one still_ wants_ him. Will _never stop wanting him_." Her throat was raw with tears and yelling.

Tommy shook his head and stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. "Then you're going to be lonely for a very long time, honey," he said in a quiet voice. He didn't move near her again. Instead, he just slowly backed away, nodding at the chair in the corner. "I'll come back for that some other time."

Andy stayed in the living room, a very fine tremor running through her as she heard both the kitchen and garage doors shut, one after the other, and then heard Bobby's truck start up and back down the driveway. Brody was butting his head against her thigh, rubbing up against her, searching for some attention, and out of habit, her hand fell to his back, weaving her fingers into his fur. The whole day was a big fat disaster and the only thing she had to show for it was the black SUV sitting in her driveway. Her SUV.

Her head snapped up, breath catching in her throat as she made a split second decision and then strode quickly to the bedroom. She fell to her knees at the side of the bed, and yanked out the lockbox. She opened it up and pulled out the cash and the padded envelope, and then stretched an arm under the bedframe and hauled out the duffel.

She wasn't supposed to leave until next weekend. She had it all lined out; the route, the clue, the timing. Especially the timing. Next weekend had been key; the work retreat, a sort of team-building exercise that Andy had absolutely no interest in participating in. But it gave her the excuse she needed to disappear for two days, no questions asked, should Stone or her dad get curious.

But now her dad was gone; she no longer had to account for her time to him. And Stone was still out of the area, not due back until Monday.

Andy hauled the bag up onto her shoulder, tucking the both envelopes into the end pocket. She glanced down at the open lock box, at the gun sitting on top of her fake birth certificate, her fake passport. If she was pulled over, if they thought they had cause to search her car, forget that her insurance wasn't active yet. That gun could ruin everything. Though she didn't feel right leaving without it, she used her foot to close the lid on the box and nudged it back under the bed.

The bag went into the back of the Escape and then Andy went back inside and made a final sweep. She grabbed her purse, a few bottles of water for the trip, Brody's leash and what was left of his dog food. She paused at the door, trying to think of anything she'd missed, anything she'd need. But she was ready. She'd been ready for two weeks. Clicking her tongue at the dog, they walked out of the house, resetting the alarm, locking it up tight behind them. As she rolled down the driveway, and watched the garage door fall, she smirked at the tiny bit of irony.

Her dad had done his best, had simply reiterated the very thing Stone had been trying to pound into her from day one. But he'd picked the wrong day. Any other time, she might have just taken it. The Andy that had originally come to Willow Bend would probably be curled up under the covers soaking another pillow. But it had only made this Andy more resolved. Determined.

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><p>.<p>

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><p><strong>AN: So I know some of you probably aren't super happy with me, BUT...This is the way the story goes in my head. Also I literally couldn't help myself. Let me know what you think :)**


	14. Chapter 13

**A/N: Okay. First off, a huge apology to everyone who reads, and especially to the dozen or so people who've sent concerned and considerate PMs and reviews, wondering where the hell this chapter is. I know it's a pain in the ass, but if you find yourself feeling lost, going back to Ch. 12 should help.**

**Second, another apology to everyone who left such great reviews after the last chapter. Normally, I like to reply to them before I post the new chapter, but I have to be to work in an hour or so, and really wanted to get this up and running before I left.**

**Third: huge thanks to a slew of people who've put up with my neuroses, and my laziness, and my general irritability. Since the last chapter, I've moved to another state, cramming all of my belongings into a single room, started a brand new job which is just unfamiliar enough to turn me into a ball of anxiety, and spent 6 harrowing days and nights in a tiny tent in the middle of a field, dodging drunks on their way to watch a crazy country music concert. Summary? It's been stressful.**

**Anyway, thanks go to these people (and probably a few more that I've forgotten): this_moment_is_stardust, icewitch73, deedee920, loulabelle, kitkat, rookiebluefan89...and that's where I tap out.**

**ALSO - MASSIVE thanks to everyone who nominated and voted in the RB Choice Awards. I wish I had a picture of the grin on my face when I get the alert email. Seriously, even thinking about it now makes my day, and it's all because of you. **

**So, this chapter is dedicated to you loyal readers who've continued to have faith in me though it's been a ridiculously long time since I've updated. This chapter is a little shorter than the last few, (and possibly a little more...vague?) but that's because we're getting down to the big moment here. ;)**

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><p>"<em>You realize we're never getting them out of here, don't you?" Traci muttered as she leaned against the guardrail and looked down a floor to where Barber and Swarek were prowling around the open hood of a shiny 1965 Mustang. Positioned at regular intervals throughout the mall, more classic cars were on display, crowded by collectors, potential buyers, and oglers. Beyond the displays, the mall was bustling; people were everywhere, weaving in and out of stores, around kiosks. And it was loud; voices echoing around the open space, screaming children running by. <em>

_Andy rolled her eyes and braced her forearms against the smooth metal. "Well, we're going to miss the movie and Sam and I kind of got plans tonight, so…" _

_Traci shot an amused look over at her and set her shopping bags on the floor. "Hey, you were the one who suggested we stop for lunch. Besides, they can't help it." She turned around, back against the railing, and looked at her nails. "It's like they're genetically programmed to be drawn to big engines. You really should have known better."_

"_How was I supposed to know there was a car show here today?" Andy hissed defensively. She took one last look at Sam poking his head into the passenger-side window and then spun around, frustrated. "God, even if we get them outside, there's gotta be fifty more lined up in the parking lot."_

"_Fifty?" Traci asked, eyebrows up. "Probably closer to a hundred. Better accept it. We're gonna be here all day." _

_Andy took a deep breath and then nodded distractedly. She tossed one last look over her shoulder down at Swarek and Barber and then shook her head. "Well, might as well make the best of it," she remarked sulkily. She looked at her friend. "Coffee, cookies or ice cream?"_

_Traci gave her a sly look. "I can only choose one?"_

_Andy looped a few of the shopping bag handles over her wrists and gave her a sly smile. "No. Which one do you want to get__** first**__?" _

_A half hour later they were very slowly ambling away from the delicious hot grease smell of Sbarro and the rest of the food court and back towards the Mustang and Andy was licking a dribble of Jamoca Almond Fudge from her fingers while Traci made her way through her second double chocolate chip. _

"_So, these plans you have," Traci prompted, shooting her a knowing look. "Would they be __**naked**__ plans?"_

_The corner of Andy's mouth turned up and she glanced away, focusing instead on a couple of teenage girls trying on sunglasses at one of the kiosks. When she didn't reply, Traci elbowed her a little. "Ow! Maybe," she finally conceded with a laugh. _

"_Ha ha. I knew it," Traci laughed. She used a finger to hitch her purse higher up onto her shoulder and then took another bite. _

_Andy swallowed a big mouthful of ice cream, feeling the brain freeze come on quick and then ebb an instant later. "We're just trying to soak it up, you know? Make these last few days really count." She didn't say anymore. Didn't explain how even though they still had those few days, she was missing him already. But it must have been written all over her face._

"_So, it's serious then," Traci said, eyeing her carefully. "This thing with Swarek."_

_Andy nodded, no hesitation at all. "Yeah. Yeah it's very serious."_

"_I'm just asking. Because the last time I checked, you said you were still figuring things out. Having fun, or whatever." They stopped short as they reached the display area, and after a moment, started picking their way to the center of the crowd. _

"_Well, we're still having fun," Andy joked, shooting her a grin. _

"_But you're waiting for him," Traci replied. It wasn't a question, but Andy nodded anyway._

"_Yeah. I am."_

_Traci stood up on her toes, scanning the crowd for Jerry and Sam. "That's a big deal, though. Right? I mean, you're basically putting your life on hold until he gets back."_

"_It's only three months," Andy said haltingly, almost choking on the words. Between the two of them, she and Sam had probably repeated those same words fifty times over the last three weeks; more often the closer it got to him leaving. With only two nights left, it was almost a reflex by now. "And it's not my __**whole**__ life. It's not like I'm joining a convent or anything," she laughed._

"_Might as well be," Traci muttered and Andy shot her a dirty look. "Well, sorry but you're going from all Swarek, all the time to a lot of lonely nights."_

"_I can handle it," Andy replied, her voice a little more sharp than she intended. Traci glanced at her and had the good grace to look rebuked. _

"_Are you sure?" she asked cautiously. "You're not going to be able to fake this one. You start saying you'll wait for him, and it's like a promise. The two of you are making promises to each other," Traci explained, making sure there was no mistake. Her gaze caught Andy's and held it. "Are you sure you're ready for that?" _

_Andy spun towards her, a frown twisting her lips. "What's your deal? I thought you were on board with this." She shot a dirty look towards her left as she was jostled by an angry wife dragging her husband away from the display. Then she turned back to Traci. "Why are you trying to get me to change my mind?"_

_Traci's eyebrows went up and she held up a hand defensively. "I'm not. I swear. I just have a feeling that this separation isn't going to be as easy as you think and I don't want you getting hurt, okay?"_

_Andy inhaled deeply and looked away, giving her head a barely noticeable shake. "Sam wouldn't hurt me, alright? And it __**is**__ going to be hard, but we've been talking about it for a while now, and we're ready. Prepared." She nodded to herself, resolute. "I'll be fine. We'll __**both**__ be fine," she added, giving Traci a serious look._

_Traci didn't respond, and after a second of staring her down, Andy turned back towards the car. She got onto her tip toes and craned her neck, scanning the crowd for Sam's face._

_The whole area was bathed in sun shining through the skylight, and people were moving in all directions, making identification difficult. But, she finally caught sight of him at the edge of the crowd, leaned up against a massive stone planter. He had his Blackberry out, tapping buttons as his head turned one way and then another, searching. Sam put the phone up to his ear, and after a second, Andy felt the phone in her back pocket come to life, vibrating and singing loudly, a tiny mechanical noise barely audible under the din of the crowd._

_Instead of answering, she stepped up onto a short ledge setting off a small seating area and then waved. It only took a second for Sam to catch sight of her, a head taller than the rest of the crowd, bare arm outstretched. He stood and then, without looking away, grabbed a handful of Jerry's sleeve and dragged him from the car. Sam grinned at her, dimples cutting deep into his cheeks as he towed his friend through the crowd._

_Andy beamed back and then looked down at Traci. "Besides," she added, all anxiety suddenly gone in a breath. "I'd wait a lot longer if I had to."_

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><p><strong>Sunday, June 17<strong>

Andy eased her foot off the accelerator and coasted down to a legal speed as she crossed the Willow Bend city limits. She was on autopilot, having made the same journey from Vancouver for the fourth week in a row. In the back seat, Brody started to move around, lifting his head to peer out the window as familiar buildings, streets, and trees all flew by. His tags jangled a little as he shifted, pushing himself up onto his haunches so he could see better.

She was grateful he'd turned out to be such a good passenger. She couldn't have made the last few trips alone, not to mention the one that had started it all, a month before. That night she'd hauled her duffel out from under her bed and they'd piled into the Escape; after the fight with Riley, after the breakdown she'd had in front of her dad. Andy and Brody had driven for a couple of hours, until she couldn't keep her eyes open anymore. She'd reluctantly parted with a wad of cash at the cheapest looking place she could find and laid down on top of the covers in her clothes with the dog butted up against the backs of her thighs. The thin walls had done nothing to disguise the activities of her neighbors on either side, but despite the noise, she'd slept and she'd slept hard. The back-to-back fights had exhausted her; had wrung every ounce of extra energy from her until she'd been running on pure adrenaline and stubbornness.

Sunday had dawned only a few hours later, and she'd awoken a little more clear-headed, a little less distraught, but just as determined. It took hardly any time at all to rinse off in the shower, get her duffel and her dog back into the SUV and take off once more. She'd known where she was going. Way back in Toronto, in that tiny room in the safe house, Sam had told her to be careful. So she was.

"_No one can know your address. Not even your town, or your province."_

Andy and Brody had traveled the remaining distance that day, nearly seven more hours until they'd reached Calgary. She'd popped the padded envelope into the first mail drop she'd seen, and then the two of them walked around a nearby park for an hour, stretching their legs. She'd gotten another hotel room for the night, and then had started back Monday morning. Her boss hadn't been exactly thrilled about her calling in, but there wasn't much to be done about it, seeing as how she'd been over 900 kilometers away at the time.

They'd made it back to Willow Bend before the sun went down, and Andy had slept straight through to 6 AM when she'd gotten up for yet another Tuesday morning at the bank. But though she'd gotten around ten hours of sleep, she was still worn out. In fact, as the days went by, she only found herself feeling worse. Even now, nearly five weeks later, she felt stretched thin. She was an honest-to-god maelstrom of emotion, and it was taking its toll.

After Andy crossed the bridge, she slowed a little, pulling off to the left, towards her street. A minute or two later, she was turning onto Juniper Drive and she tried to keep her eyes forward. She tried to resist. But her eyes bounced once over to Riley's house as they rolled by. His Suburban wasn't in the driveway, he wasn't outside at the hoop and his windows were dark. That was another problem. Time hadn't done anything to lessen the twisting in her gut she felt whenever she wondered where he was.

She hadn't spoken to him since the blowup at his house. She hadn't even really _seen_ him in a month, except for a hostile glimpse here and there as they passed on the road. On the surface, she was still angry about it; about the kiss, about the assumptions he'd made about her relationship with Sam. But underneath, she was sad, and she felt _guilty_. Andy'd waited almost two weeks for him to come crawling back to apologize, sure that eventually, he'd have to give in. But when it didn't happen, she'd begun to worry. She'd weaseled the information about his past out of him, about his breakup, and Rebecca's rejection, and then had thrown it back in his face in one of the harshest ways possible. It had been a reflex, and it had been unplanned, but when she thought about it like that… If she were in his place, she probably wouldn't be in a hurry to forgive and forget either.

It was becoming obvious that if Andy had any hopes of mending their friendship, she'd have to be the one to make the first move. She missed him and she missed their friendship more than she ever imagined she could, but so far, she hadn't screwed up the courage to knock on his door.

Andy continued on down the road, slapped off the AC and cracked the windows until she could smell the smoke from someone's grill and hear the far off growl of a mower. Rolling slowly, two doors away from home, she glanced up the block towards Rebecca's. The blonde woman was on her knees in the flowerbeds surrounding the front door. AJ and Maddie were chasing each other around a large shrub halfway down the lawn. As Andy watched, AJ halted in her tracks, long blond braid flapping against her back, and she spun around and dropped into a crouch. As Maddie came around the bush, AJ grabbed her with a loud, "Boo!" Maddie's high-pitched squeal made Andy wince and made Brody whine and paw at the upholstery on the back seat, wanting to join in on the fun.

The sound also made Rebecca's head come up, and when she saw the Escape, she lifted a hand in a friendly wave, but didn't rise to her feet.

Andy returned the greeting, but frowned when Rebecca turned back to her gardening. Things were once again weird between them, and Andy knew it was 100% her own fault. But after Rebecca's confession about her feelings for Riley, and the subsequent misunderstanding, she couldn't be in the same room with her without suffering from huge amounts of guilt. She felt as if she'd betrayed her friend, though that wasn't actually the case. For some inexplicable reason, keeping her past to herself seemed like child's play compared to this. In this situation, she was feeling like the world's worst liar, and eventually it had just become easier to stay away. For sure, easier than coming clean about the whole mess. Definitely easier than seeing the devastated look on Rebecca's face.

It had taken a while; a few weeks of Andy being too busy to share a bottle of wine, too busy to go shopping. The few times she'd mentioned going to see Riley, Andy had swiftly and expertly blown her off, evading all questions with a practiced ease honed from months of keeping secrets. And finally, Rebecca had taken the hint. The phone calls and impromptu knocks at the door had dwindled to almost nothing. Andy should have been thrilled. She should have felt relief; but all she felt was miserable. Until her dad had shown up, Rebecca had been the closest thing she'd had to family here in Willow Bend. They didn't always see eye-to-eye, weren't always overly considerate of each other's feelings, but she'd been someone to talk to, and there was a very obvious caring between the two of them. It was just one more thing missing from her life at the moment.

But all that was coming to an end. The one phone call she'd received the past week had gone straight to voicemail, and it was simply a reminder that AJ was expecting Andy at her Little League game on Monday. So, ready or not, on Monday they'd be seeing each other and Andy was working up the nerve to lay it all out; the kiss, the fight, the loneliness she'd been suffering the last month. The ugly truth was that she was doing it just as much for herself – to get it off her chest, to relieve a little stress – as for their friendship. That conversation was bound to be either awkward or painful for both of them, but awkward and painful would be a step up at this point.

Because lately, life was pretty dismal. A lot like those early days in Witness Protection. Quiet and alone. Beyond the obvious lack of social life, she hadn't seen her dad since the night he'd left her in the living room, shaking with rage and tears. He'd stopped by a couple of times, and both times, she'd let him knock a few times, let him walk down the steps and back to his car. Whereas she was feeling no small amount of remorse over her argument with Riley, she was still livid with her dad. Out of everything that had happened, out of everyone she'd met since arriving in BC, Tommy had been the one person she knew she had on her side at all times, no matter what. The knowledge that he didn't have the same faith she felt in her relationship with Sam had been a massive blow to her confidence and her ability to just hold everything together. It had been the driving force in her bumping the plan up; it had been the one of the biggest things that kept her driving up to Vancouver every week. Proving once and for all, to everyone, that she and Sam were not over. And for that reason, until she no longer felt the anger rising up inside her at the very thought of him, she couldn't let Tommy in, couldn't pick up the phone and catch up. It felt like she'd be giving in. Like she'd be giving up.

Swallowing hard, Andy turned away from the Weaver house and hit the button on the garage door opener. She pulled the Escape up onto her driveway, watching as the door creaked up, slow as molasses. Out of habit, she scanned the interior, and then entered quickly, letting the door fall to the cement before she exited the vehicle. She got out of the car, put her bag over her shoulder and then opened the hatch. Brody jumped over the rear seat and out of the SUV. She felt him brush his side against her leg, crowding her a little, as she pulled out a box of fruit and vegetables from the farmers' market she'd passed halfway back from Vancouver. It had been her stock excuse for this trip, and the three that had come before. Not that anyone was around to ask.

Brody, walked up the steps ahead of her, stopped at the storm door and looked up at her. She unlocked the deadbolts and then let him in, smiling to herself as he wandered purposefully from room to room, nosing around, checking the place out. Her shoes came off next, toed off with a happy groan as they fell onto the mat next to a pair of running shoes, a pair of hiking boots and her old duty boots. Then, she relocked both deadbolts, and reset the alarm.

Her purse and the box were set on the counter and then she put the produce away, stuffing some of it into the crisper drawer in the fridge, leaving the peaches out on the counter to ripen a little more. She snagged the last apple from the box, a small one, picked too early in the season. She washed it, staring out the window into the woods the whole time. Like most days, Andy saw nothing out of the ordinary; no telltale signs of mystery guests. There had been no more broken branches, no more trespassers in the clearing as far as she could tell. And she'd been checking. Daily. The only motion she saw was the normal, natural movement she expected. The wind rustled the leaves on the trees outside, and the sun was shining through the branches on its long journey to meet the horizon.

Andy bit into the apple, feeling juice run down the side of her chin. She used the back of her hand to wipe it away and took a second bite, and then a third, realizing only a couple minutes later when she tossed the core into the trash that she'd been starving. She started to leave the room, but then thought better of it and refilled the dog dish, figuring he was probably hungry as well. Lastly, she reached over the sink and closed the blinds, shutting out the light. She walked out of the dark kitchen, her steps silent on the hardwood flooring of the dining room, and then hung a left.

Brody met her in the hallway and she murmured a soft, "good boy," as she held her hand out and he nuzzled it. She bent down and gave him a rough rub to his side. Her fingers slid in and out of his thick coat and then she straightened and walked down the hallway, her feet sinking into the plush carpeting. She made her way to the bedroom and when she got there, she stripped the clothing from her body and wrapped a towel around herself for the short walk to the shower.

Andy closed the bathroom door and then hung up the towel on the hook. She stepped into the shower, letting the hot water beat all the day's grime from her body and face. Apparently, summer was summer no matter where you were, and the heat and humidity were suffocating lately. It rained often enough that the moisture never seemed to disappear; the sun never burned it up, and it clung to her skin and her clothes any time she left the house and the comfort of her air conditioning. To make matters worse, she broke out into a sweat as soon as she stepped out of the house and her hair was sticking to her neck and shoulders if it wasn't in a ponytail 24/7. It was more than pleasant to finally feel clean and cool; it was a relief. After quickly soaping up and rinsing, she turned the water off and squeezed the moisture from her shoulder-length hair as she stepped out onto the mat.

She wrapped herself back up in the towel, walked up to the vanity and reached out, doing the same thing she'd done every day for longer than she cared to admit. With the flat of her hand, she made a small clearing in the condensation. As she looked into the wet mirror, the real Andy McNally stared back out at her. Because the circle framed her face, she could pretend that her hair was still long, and could pretend her skin didn't look as drawn and tight as she knew it was.

She stared at her reflection for a few seconds, thinking about what she'd be doing right now if she were still in Toronto. Would she be at home, or going out with Traci, or maybe looking over at Sam in the squad car, her eyes on his profile as he drove them both around town?

She took a deep breath as her thoughts went to him again. It felt like she'd been waiting forever for some sort of response to her message. For four Sundays, she'd woken up early, unable to sleep a single second longer, and had gotten ready. The normal routine: shower, breakfast, coffee for the road, and then she and Brody got into the Escape and drove west. And for four Sundays, she'd returned, disappointed and defeated; hopes dashed. After considering the time it would take for the package to get to Ontario, she hadn't expected anything the first week, but she'd taken the drive anyway. And she hadn't been very hopeful the second week either. But after four… After four, she was starting to feel the tiniest niggling shred of doubt.

There were a dozen things that could have gone wrong. She wasn't a criminal mastermind; the tiniest thing could have fouled up the whole plan. Maybe the envelope had gotten lost in the mail; maybe Sam didn't even know she'd made the effort. When he hadn't heard from her all these months, he could have gone back to work for Boyd and Guns and Gangs. Or maybe he'd gotten it, but hadn't been able to figure out the message. She'd tried to make it something only he would be able to work out, but it had been subtle; it was very possible he hadn't made the connection. Or maybe… Maybe her dad had been right. Maybe Sam was moving on.

Andy swallowed hard at the thought and then shook her head. She had to be more patient.

There were a lot of things to think about, lots of planning still required. It was perfectly reasonable to expect a delay, totally acceptable for it to take time. This wasn't a trip to the store; it wasn't as simple as making a list. It required thought, and money, and time. Lots of time, apparently.

She took another big breath.

Nothing was perfect; it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility for the plan to have a hiccup or two, but the frustration was a very real thing. As were the nerves. The weeks of emotional overload had been good for one reason, and one reason only. As long as she was worried about Riley and Rebecca and her dad, she couldn't think about the possibility that someone had intercepted the package. That she'd intentionally opened herself up to danger. But she couldn't deny that she was reading license plates under her breath while she waited in traffic, or that she'd scan faces as she tore up and down the aisles at the grocery store; almost terrified she'd see one she recognized from her nightmares. Even now, as she considered it, as she thought about someone else making the impossible connection, it made her heart race.

Little beads of water were beginning to run down the mirror, making trails in the fog, interrupting the moment. Holding in a sigh, she picked up a hand towel and wiped it away and Abby McAllister reappeared; hair just brushing at her collarbones, frown lines carved a touch deeper than she would have liked. She made a face, then turned away from the reflection and walked out of the bathroom. Brody was lying in the hall and his eyes followed her as she walked around the corner and back into the bedroom to dress, kicking the door shut behind her.

* * *

><p>She spent the rest of Sunday afternoon, and much of the evening, in a tank top and a pair of boxers, curled up on the sofa. Brody was wound into a tight knot behind her knees, his head resting heavily on the armrest. For a few hours they both dozed, neither one moving when the television programs changed or when the shadows started to darken the room.<p>

When a brisk knock came from the garage, Andy jerked in her sleep. In fact, it took her another knock and another half a minute to sit up and become fully aware of her surroundings. Brody was stepping down off the couch, ears perked up, something between a snarl and a whine coming from his throat. She let him growl, let him lead the way into the kitchen. Only after she'd peered through the peephole did she use her leg to edge him out of the way and then hissed at him to keep it down. After he'd quieted down a bit, she swung the door wide and let in Stone and McBride.

"Hey," she said, greeting them with a modicum of tired enthusiasm. She turned and walked back into the kitchen, leaving them to file in behind her, and then turned, butt up against the stove. "So, what's up?" she asked through a yawn, hand held up to her face. She watched in amusement as Brody stood between her and the agents, muscles bunched, growl still curling from deep inside. Stone raised an eyebrow at her and Andy smiled.

"Brody, be nice. C'mere." She patted her thigh and he turned around, planted himself at her feet, still tense. Andy tipped her chin up in a nod. "I think he can smell the gunpowder. Or maybe the cleaner?" She placed her hand on her hip, patting the spot where her gun used to sit. "He gets a little weird whenever I take mine out."

Stone's hand automatically went to her holster and then she smiled. "That's interesting," she said, staring down at Brody curiously.

Andy looked over the two of them again. "So?" she repeated.

"Just passing through," Stone explained as she glanced up from the dog. "We brought you a present."

"Oh, yeah?" Andy asked. "You miss me, McBride?"

The blonde man gave her a quiet smile and shook his head. "Stone said you were setting up a gym. I had some stuff sitting in storage, and I thought you could use it."

Andy's eyebrows went up. "Wow, that's nice of you."

He gave her a cool shrug. "No one else was using it. Just tell me where to hang the bag."

She pushed her fingers through her hair, combing it back as she thought about it. "I guess the basement? I don't really have a spot for it yet," she warned. "Maybe by the treadmill?" She'd gotten that a few weeks before, after scanning the classifieds for used fitness equipment at local garage sales. She'd paid the woman $30 extra to get her husband and brother to deliver it and wrestle it down the stairs, Brody watching them like a hawk the entire time.

McBride shook his head and tossed a smile over his shoulder as he turned to go back to the garage. "I'll figure it out. You have tools?"

Andy made a face. "Just the basics." He nodded thoughtfully and disappeared through the door.

Stone waited until he'd returned, the weighty heavy bag tucked awkwardly under his arm as he headed for the basement. Then, she turned to Andy

"How've you been?" she asked, taking a step closer. It was a little disarming how Stone could stare at her like that, and Andy suddenly felt like she had no secrets. Like there was nothing Jill didn't know. She hoped with her whole heart that it wasn't actually true.

"I've been okay," Andy replied warily, brushing past her to open the fridge. She pulled out a bottle of beer, then after a second's pause, pulled out another and handed it over. Stone hesitated for a moment and Andy raised her eyebrows. "Off duty, right?"

Stone nodded and after shrugging, gave the cap a twist. She tossed it at the trash can and took a small sip. Andy just held hers, fingertips going a little numb from the cold glass as she waited for her to get around to the real reason for the visit.

It didn't take long.

"Listen, I got that information you wanted," she said in a hushed tone. Andy's eyes snapped up to hers, held them in a hard stare. "That information about Sam," Stone clarified.

She took an involuntary step forward. "I know what you mean. Let me see it."

"Nothing to see," Stone said and set her full bottle on the counter. Brody was lying on the floor between them, eyes traveling back and forth as their voices sounded. "The file is in a drawer in my office."

"What? Why?" Andy asked, her breath coming up short in disbelief.

Stone settled her hands on her hips. "Because I know you, and I know there's no way you would have let me out of here without getting your hands on it. You can ask me anything you want, but you know I can't let you keep hard copies of anything."

Andy shook her head, feeling the sudden surprise of angry tears pricking at her eyes. She turned her head and looked away, blinking a few times. The frustration she felt only compounded the disappointment of her earlier fruitless journey and it took her a few seconds to pull herself together, arms wrapped tightly around her middle.

"Are you okay?" Stone asked, knowing full well that she was clearly_ not _okay, but Andy nodded.

"I'm fine," she said, sniffing loudly. "What did you find out?"

Stone leaned back against the counter, arms folded businesslike in front of her. "He's not undercover. So you don't have to worry about that."

Andy closed her eyes, giving herself a second. It was a relief to know that he wasn't doing that again; that he wasn't somewhere unfamiliar, surrounded by criminals. But if he'd been undercover, it at least would have been an explanation for why it was taking so long for him to get back to her. She tucked her hair behind her ear. "What's he doing then?" she asked, her voice little more than a croak.

Stone reached up and brushed an imaginary bit of lint from the shoulder of her jacket. "All signs say he's living a normal life."

"All signs?" Andy asked in a suspicious tone. "You didn't talk to anyone?"

Jill gave her a reproachful look. "I had a friend in the Toronto office check up on things for me. He called and got a pretty thorough update on the case; on all the players," she said, giving Andy a pointed look. "But it's not exactly like he could call Sam up and have a chat. Ask him about his hopes and dreams." Andy rolled her eyes. "I'm supposed to be doing this under the radar, remember?" Stone reminded her.

"Well, what did he find out? What's normal?" Andy asked impatiently

Stone took another sip of her beer and then put the bottle aside again. "At this point in time, it appears that things are okay with him. He's working with a partner, staying out of trouble. No write-ups, no official reprimands. All of that looks fine. And I checked his credit card usage, phone records, the usual. Both are being used regularly; the bills are being paid. He appears to be frequenting the same three restaurants. He likes to go to the bar every now and again, but I can't remember the name of the place…"

"The Black Penny," Andy said, trying to swallow down the knot in her throat.

"That's right," Stone continued with a nod. "Anyway, he hasn't been arrested. No public records have been filed in his name, except for two court appearances in non-related cases. Paychecks are being regularly deposited. He's made no major purchases…. What's the matter?" she asked, seeing the expression on Andy's face.

It was a little annoying, how six months' worth of pretending and acting and keeping secrets could be dissolved in an instant at the very mention of Sam. At the picture of him in her head doing all the things they used to do together, only this time, he was doing them alone.

Andy's eyes met hers a second later. "No. Nothing." Except nothing wasn't making her heart pound out of her chest. "It's just…" She lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. "I guess it's just harder than I thought it would be. To hear, I mean. Even after all this time, you know?"

Stone nodded. "Yeah, I guess I can understand that. Are you sure you're alright?" she asked, and this time, Andy heard a little worry in her voice. A little softness. For the first time in a long time, Andy's curiosity about Stone was piqued. What happened to the sharp-tongued cop when she was off duty; did that hard-heartedness extend into her personal life? Or was it possible that these small slips, the brief moments of concern were hinting at the real Stone?

And then Jill frowned, and the moment was gone. "Andy?"

She nodded, once, and then again, picking up conviction with every tip of her chin. "No. Everything's fine. I'm just tired. Work," she explained with a weak laugh. "Who knew making change could be so stressful?"

Stone didn't return the laugh. Andy moved to the sink and started moving her dinner dishes from the counter and into the basin. When she glanced over her shoulder, Jill was still watching her, a frown marring the smooth skin of her forehead.

"I'm okay, Jill," she said, trying to keep the strain out of her voice. Trying to keep her body from reacting to the fact that as far as anyone could tell, things with Sam were business as usual, despite the fact that it had been a month since she had attempted contact. She inhaled deeply and turned back to the sink; started running the water. "Maybe someone should check on McBride," she suggested lightly, praying that she held it together until they left.

Stone didn't say anything at first, and Andy didn't hear her move at all. Not a creak in the floor underfoot, not a sigh of breath; nothing. She didn't look back at her. Andy kept her eyes out the window, on the darkness seeping out of the woods, creeping over the lawn as the sliver of remaining sun made its final descent. As the sink filled, hot soapy water rose up around Andy's fingers and Jill spoke.

"How're things going with your friends?" Stone asked quietly. "With your dad?"

Andy froze, feeling Stone's eyes drilling holes into her back. "Perfect," she replied in a deceptively level tone. "Why do you ask?" She picked up a coffee cup and ran the sponge around inside it, spell broken.

"Tommy mentioned he hasn't seen you in a while."

Andy snorted. "Of course he did. He's probably been on the phone with you every day for the last month."

"Actually, he hasn't."

Andy shook her head and squeezed all the water out of the sponge before tossing it up onto the ledge and then she spun around. "You're lying, Jill." This time she didn't argue. "You're checking up on me. Why make excuses? It's not exactly your style." She flung a hand towards the basement door, all of a sudden fed up with all the subterfuge.

"He said I shouldn't be obvious about it."

Andy didn't even try to conceal her disdain.

"Fine," Jill snapped. She was leaning casually back against the counter, ankles crossed in front of her, but her eyes were alert and probing. "I'm terrible at subtle. I admit it. But he's concerned."

"Well, he can be concerned somewhere else. Things here are good," Andy assured her.

"And things with Rebecca? Riley?"

Andy gave her a smile that was just shy of genuine. "Never better. I'm seeing Rebecca tomorrow actually. I promised her kid I'd go to her game."

Stone wet her lips and then walked to the center of the room, feet just inches away from Brody still lying prone on the floor.

"I know we've had this conversation before," she said slowly. "But you have to realize by now how important it is to have people in your life. You can't do this alone. And you were in a really good place the last time I saw you. So, what happened?"

"You're right." Andy glared at her. "We _have_ had this conversation before," she replied tartly.

"Andy…."

"Mind your own business, Jill," she snapped.

The two of them faced off for a few seconds, neither one looking away, and then both their heads turned towards the basement door as heavy footfalls came up the steps. By the time McBride entered the kitchen, Andy was turned back to the sink, and Stone was tapping her foot in irritation.

"You ready to go?" he asked quietly and behind her, Andy heard Stone murmur a word of agreement. She heard them walk away, just a few steps towards the garage door. McBride tossed out a quick, "See you later," and then in the reflection in the window, she saw Stone pause. Saw her turn back and wait.

Giving an exasperated sigh, Andy spun around and met her eyes.

"What?" she asked sharply, completely fed up.

"Make up with your friends. Fix things with your dad," Stone said in a hard, but tired voice. Andy's mouth dropped open, and she took a breath, but Stone held up her hand, and her eyebrows lifted seriously. "I'm _not _asking."

* * *

><p>Ten minutes later, McBride was aiming the black sedan out of Willow Bend, picking up speed as they headed back towards Vancouver.<p>

He cleared his throat once and tossed a questioning glance into the passenger seat. Stone met his eyes for a second and then looked away, watching in the side-view mirror as the lights from Willow Bend faded away behind them. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him turn back to the road, saw one of his hands drop from the steering wheel to the console where he found his coffee.

"I should probably warn you," McBride said quietly, his tone intentionally light. "My parents have been asking about you. Mom's wondering if she's ever going to see you at Sunday dinner again. You're probably going to get another call."

Physically, Stone didn't react. She just pulled out her phone, opened up her email program and started tapping out a quick note to a colleague. She ignored the hollow ache that blossomed in her chest; just pushed it aside like something she'd deal with when she got around to it.

"Tell them I'm busy."

"Every Sunday?" he asked wryly, a smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

"For the foreseeable future," she muttered. "Besides. I don't know if you've realized, but _today's_ Sunday. I don't recall _you_ scrambling to get to the table on time either," she added testily.

"Jill…" He took a deep breath through his nose and his head shook almost imperceptibly in frustration. He hit the signal and then passed a maroon minivan doing ten kilometers under the limit. "It's been a while," he said simply as he moved back into the right lane. "Over a year now."

She rolled her eyes. "Nice try, but I'm pretty sure they only started asking a couple of months ago."

McBride was silent for a moment while the radio started playing some song about summer days and young love. And then she heard him release a long, slow breath. "That's not what I was talking about."

Her hand froze over her phone, index finger extended, and after a second, she turned her head and looked directly at him. "I'm not ready, okay?" He locked eyes with her for a second, and then looked away, giving a short nod. "And even if I was, I've got a full plate right now," she added.

A long moment of silence passed between them, and grudgingly, he let her steer the conversation in another direction. "How's she doing?" he asked, his voice low in the dark cabin of the car. "Andy McNally?"

Stone glanced over one more time, then back down at her phone as she started tapping again. "She's been better."

He arched an eyebrow and set the cruise, shifting his long legs. "You think she'll make it?"

She took in a breath and then after a pause, shook her head slowly. "If you'd asked me a month ago, I'd have said 'definitely.' Now?" She shrugged.

She felt McBride's eyes on her as he looked over and then back to the road. "You're worried about her."

"Wouldn't be doing my job if I wasn't worried," she replied stiffly.

"She looked okay to me."

She shook her head. "You didn't really see her." He didn't reply, and for a long moment, she listened to the sounds of their breathing. His was slow and steady; hers a beat quicker, it came a little more shallowly. She leaned her head back against the headrest and turned it to look at him. "When we were in Montreal, I got four very upset calls from Tommy McNally. And this week, he's called twice."

"You're not social services or family therapy, Jill," he reminded her in a gentle, but firm tone. "It's not your job to make sure everyone gets along."

"Sure it is," she argued. "If Andy McNally can't make a go of it here because she can't sustain her personal relationships, it's my problem." He gave her a quick glance. "I think I'm losing her, Mark."

He cleared his throat then reached over and flipped off the air. "You're not. You haven't lost one yet."

Stone took a deep breath and closed her eyes again, and kept them closed as they barreled along a dark empty highway. "I think she's going to run. Maybe not right now, but sometime. If things don't start getting better for her." She folded her arms across her chest and settled into her seat for the remainder of the drive. "I need to do something," she said with a yawn.

He rolled his shoulders a little, still trying to stretch out his long frame as best he could in the driver's seat. "Well," he ventured. "What do you want to do? Put someone on the house?"

She was silent for half a minute, and then she looked over, studying his profile. His face was lit queerly by the red illumination of the dash. It glinted off the ends of his light hair, off the barely-there prickle of blonde whiskers on his square jaw. Stone sucked in a breath and spoke, her words flowing quickly, crisply "I need you to give me one good reason why I shouldn't petition Sam Swarek into the Program."

McBride barked out a laugh, and then, seeing she was in no way joking, his expression sobered. "I can give you ten good reasons."

Stone sat up a little in her seat, her arms wrapped loosely around her midsection. "Well, line 'em up. Let's go."

McBride hit a button on the steering wheel and muted the radio. "For one, his life isn't in danger. That's the most obvious one." When Stone didn't reply, he reached up and scratched the back of his head. "Not to mention, you'd need his signature to file a petition."

"That's weak. We both know I could push it through without one."

He shook his head and exhaled loudly before turning to her. "The guy could have a whole new life by now, Jill," he reminded her in a gentle tone.

"He doesn't," she argued. His eyes slid over to hers, held them in a good stare, and then turned back to the road.

"And you know this _how_?" McBride asked, sounding like he had more than a vague idea as to how. Stone was silent, but lifted a shoulder in a helpless gesture and he rolled his eyes. "You just do whatever the hell you want, don't you?" he asked in quiet disbelief. She looked out her window, sensing an undercurrent in his words she almost never felt anymore. She ignored it.

"I had a good reason."

"Yeah," he muttered. "You always do."

Neither of them spoke for another few minutes. They passed through a tiny little town, a single gas station sitting at the top of the exit ramp. When the lights faded away again, she heard him take a deep breath.

"The only reason that really matters," he began, his voice slow, the timbre rumbling low through the quiet car. "Is that they'll never sign off on it. They'll reject this petition. The same way they rejected the first one," he said, giving her a knowing look.

Stone didn't even flinch. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He smirked, and flipped off his brights as a car approached. "Sure, you don't."

She rolled her eyes and fumbled in the console for her coffee. "You're an ass," she mumbled as she lifted it to her lips. But when McBride laughed, Jill smiled against the lip of her paper cup.

* * *

><p><strong>Monday, June 18<strong>

The next day, Andy got out of work about an hour later than she'd intended due to an impromptu one-on-one meeting with her boss. By the time she got home, Rebecca's minivan was already absent from the driveway, and the hour hand on Andy's watch was getting dangerously close to six. She got into the house, let the dog out and then changed quickly, pulling on a pair of denim shorts and a tank top. She threw her hair into a ponytail, slid her feet into a pair of sandals and then locked up the house before she headed out towards the park.

The ballgame had already begun by the time Andy walked the distance to the diamond. The bleachers were somewhat filled, over-eager parents and siblings sitting on blankets to protect bare legs from the hot metal. Others were perched in lawn chairs and camping chairs, shaded under the trees. There were coolers full of soda, water and snacks stuck in between the rows. Some of the younger children were tromping up and down the steps in the center and chasing each other around while the older ones were raising hell at a nearby playground.

As she moved closer, and got her hand up on the railing, she spotted AJ talking to the coach at the mound. Rebecca was up off the bleachers and at the fence behind the bench, Maddie's hand tucked tightly into her own. Her attention was on her oldest daughter who was nodding quickly as her eyes shifted from the spectators and back to the coach's face. As he backed away from the mound, Rebecca cupped her hand around her mouth, letting out an encouraging yell as Maddie gripped the chain-link with her free hand and rattled it a little.

"Come on, AJ. You've got this!"

As Andy moved slowly around the bleachers to stand at Rebecca's side, AJ threw one last pitch and struck out the tall thin brunette at home plate. The majority of the fathers in the stands let out a cheer as AJ's team ran in and the opposing team took their places around the field.

AJ grinned over at them, giving Andy an excited wave as she walked past and then found her place on the bench. Andy turned to Rebecca with a grin.

"So, how's it going?" she asked casually, trying to hide the unease she felt. But any anxiety and fear was dispelled as Rebecca's face broke into a huge welcoming smile.

"Great! We're up by two," she replied with a laugh. She gave Andy a quick once over and then looked her straight in the eye. "What about you? I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

Andy stuffed her hands into her back pockets and took a breath, ready to spill her guts, but the look on Rebecca's face, the expectant smile that stretched from ear to ear gave her pause. At the last second, she shook her head, pushing out a nervous laugh.

"No, nothing really. Just busy I guess. You know."

"Oh sure," Rebecca replied evenly, nodding a few times. "But with what?"

Andy's mouth fell open, some ready-made excuse at the tip of her tongue, something vague about family drama, but the answering smile and response died on her lips as she glanced up, past Rebecca, and saw Riley approaching from her other side.

His eyes found hers, met them with reluctance, and then slid deliberately away as he handed Rebecca her keys and bent down to give Maddie a Ziploc full of animal crackers.

"How'd she do?" he asked as he straightened, nodding towards AJ.

Rebecca flashed him a grin. "How do you think she did?" she answered with a laugh. "And look who finally made it," she said, tipping her head towards Andy. Riley glanced at her for a fraction of a second, just enough to acknowledge her presence, and then looked away again. He didn't say a word. Any small amount of comfort Andy had started to feel dissipated in an instant and even Rebecca's smile dimmed a bit. Then she got a strange look on her face, somewhere between curious and conniving and she glanced between the two of them. "Listen, do you guys mind watching Maddie for a few minutes?" Neither Andy or Riley said anything. "I'm gonna go talk to AJ. And hopefully that will give you two time to catch up. Maybe even get over yourselves?" She didn't wait for an answer, just sidled by and crouched down behind the fence a few meters down, grinning when her daughter turned around.

Andy looked down at the ground, not entirely sure what to say. Maddie was settled down on her butt, chubby legs stretched out in front of her, hands fishing inside the plastic bag as she stuffed the cookies into her mouth; pretty much oblivious to her surroundings. It was probably for the best, considering Riley had turned toward the field, hands jammed into his pockets as he did his best to appear unflappable. However, the hard set of his jaw and the ramrod straight line of his spine suggested otherwise. Finally, Andy leaned her shoulder against the fence as she folded her arms and openly stared at him, waiting for him to say something.

When a minute had passed, she rolled her eyes, and after glancing down at the two-year old at her feet, and back at another family sitting a few rows up on the bleachers, she took a step closer.

"I guess we got ambushed again," Andy said, attempting to joke, trying to get him to give her a smile. Instead, he just tossed an annoyed look over at Rebecca and then went back to the game.

"What? So, you're just going to pretend we don't know each other?" she continued in a tight voice, trying not to feel hurt by the heavy dose of cold-shoulder.

He kept his eyes on the kids running the bases. "We _don't_ know each other," he said icily. "Not really."

"Oh, give me a break," Andy grumbled. Riley very pointedly didn't say a word; though she saw the muscles in his arms tighten up, like he'd just clenched his hands into fists in his pockets. "Look," she started, tone a little softer. "I know that we…that _I_ haven't been…" She rolled her eyes again, and gave her head a frustrated shake. "There are things that I can't talk about."

"Yeah, right," he muttered, not quite under his breath.

Andy ran her lower lip through her teeth and then turned her head and looked directly at him. "That part of my life is off limits. It's none of your business. And it has nothing to do with us being friends." She took a breath, pausing a second, hoping he would interrupt. But he didn't. "Anyway, I guess I just thought…" She shook her head and turned away. "I guess I thought I'd hear from you or something," she finished quietly.

"Phones work both ways, Abby," he replied, voice still cool.

She was silent for a moment as she watched the batter pop up a ball and saw the pitcher race up to catch it. Finally, she looked down at her feet, scuffed her toe in the tuft of grass that was growing up around the fence. "I'm still mad at you," she admitted quietly.

Riley snorted, but still didn't look over. "Yeah, well, you're not exactly at the top of my list, either." A movement caught her eye, and Andy glanced over, watching as Maddie tugged at Riley's pocket. He looked down and Andy saw a smile flicker over his face as he reached down and hauled her up. "Want to go swing, kiddo?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," Maddie answered her voice soft and shy. Riley plucked the almost empty bag of animal crackers off the ground and picked her up, tucking her onto his hip like it was something he'd done every day since she was born. He turned then, without a word, and set off past the bleachers. Andy gripped the fence with a tight fist and watched as he quickly strode across the street and reached the playground. He dropped Maddie into one of the bucket swings and gave her a push.

Andy snuck a quick look at Rebecca. She was making some weird, complicated motion with her hands as she discussed the game with AJ, seemingly paying no attention to anyone else around her.

Andy sucked in a deep breath, readying herself, and then started down the dirt path. She moved past the families watching their kids run the bases and over to the road where she crossed, feeling more frustrated with each step. Finally, she found herself at the swing set, watching as Riley pushed Maddie from the front, making her giggle each time. He glanced over at her, and then away, dismissing her.

"We need to talk," Andy said suddenly, watching as Riley's eyes snapped to her once more and his gaze held. "It's not like we're never going to run into each other again." She swung her arm towards the ball field in a frustrated gesture. "Besides, Rebecca obviously knows something's up."

Riley smirked and finally looked away. "She knows everything."

Andy arched an eyebrow. "How?"

He shot her a look. "Because she's not stupid? She asked, and I told her."

Andy crossed her arms, feeling much more than uncomfortable. "Well, is she okay? What did she say?"

"Why wouldn't she be okay?" Riley asked, giving her a bewildered look. Then he looked away again and for a few seconds, Andy was almost positive he wouldn't say another word. But then, his eyes flicked towards her again and he spoke. "She told me I was an idiot, which I already knew," he admitted in a somewhat embarrassed tone as he gave her a sheepish look. He took a big breath. "And she said I need to fix it, which I ignored." He gave a small shrug. "Wasn't quite ready then."

Andy stepped closer, curling her hand around one of the support poles, feeling the heat of it seep into her skin.

"And now?" she ventured quietly, keeping her eyes on his hands as he reached out and grabbed front of the bucket swing, holding Maddie up, letting her hang in the air until she laughed and squealed for him to release her. He let go, dropping her back into a gentle arc and then he turned to face Andy.

"Now…" He shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I don't know."

She nodded, once more looking down at the ground. "Yeah. Okay." When she glanced up again, a few long seconds later, Riley had turned back to the swing, apparently done with the conversation. "Okay," Andy mumbled again and tucked her hands into her back pockets and turned back towards the ball field.

But she was only four steps away when she heard a muttered "Christ" come from behind her and then the sound of footsteps in the tiny pebbles under the swings.

"Wait!" he called after her, and when she glanced back, he was tugging Maddie out of the swing and setting her on the ground, letting her run ahead of him towards Andy. The small girl blew past her, headed for the smaller slide. Riley stepped up next to her and they both watched Maddie climb up the heavy plastic-looking ladder, then sit down at the top. There was a brief hesitation while she screwed up the courage to send herself down, and then she let go, hurtling all the way to the end, feet slapping heavily on the ground at the base. Then she got up and did it all over again.

Next to her, Riley was smiling a little, watching Maddie as she ran around the slide, and for a second as she looked at him, Andy let herself think about it. About what things might have been like if things had gone differently that night. If she wasn't still holding on so tightly to the idea of Sam, of what they had.

Her and Riley. It wasn't hard to imagine. Quite the opposite actually. It was almost _too _easy for her to picture him wandering barefoot through her kitchen in the mornings, the crisp, clean smell of his shampoo on her pillow. And for a second, she thought about how _simple_ it could be. How simple it would make her life. Stone and her dad would be elated, and Andy would have someone to count on, someone to cut through the loneliness. Something to anchor her.

But it would never last. She didn't love him. And the way Riley was with Rebecca, with her kids, it wouldn't be fair to any of them, Andy included, if she let herself fall into a relationship with him purely because it was _easy_. Rebecca would pretend otherwise, but she'd be heartbroken, and for good reason. One day, however long down the line, months, maybe even years from now, Andy would wake up and realize that Riley was still holding a torch for Rebecca after all that time. There were dozens of things in her life that Andy wasn't sure of, but she didn't have a single doubt in her mind about that.

So, no. It would never work; not when they were both clearly in love with other people. But she wasn't quite ready to give up the small piece of him she_ could_ have.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out, cheeks coloring a little when Riley looked over at her. "For what I said that night."

He winced a little and then looked away. There was silence for a few breaths, and then he gave her a short nod.

"Me too." He reached up and ruffled the hair at the back of his head. "I shouldn't have kissed you." He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "I knew better."

Andy looked down, dug the heel of her sandal into the grass, feeling embarrassed and confused. "So why did you then?"

He inhaled deeply through his nose and folded his arms across his chest and then shrugged. "Because I like you," he said simply. "And you had this look on your face. This really _happy_ look, and I guess I thought it was because of me." He tossed a glance over at her and gave a sheepish smile. "Couldn't help myself."

"Riley…" Andy said, frowning.

"Don't," he said, shaking his head. "It's fine. I just thought maybe if you knew you had another option, you'd realize that he's not being fair." He turned his head and looked her straight in the eye. "Expecting you to just wait."

Andy swallowed hard, and brought a hand up to push a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. "One thing I've learned since I moved here? Fair doesn't have anything to do with this. Shit happens and you have to deal with it the best way you can. And I'm going to keep waiting. No matter how many options I have," she added, giving him an apologetic look. She rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms, feeling weirdly chilled though it was still brutally hot for evening. "Besides, I'm expecting to hear from him any day now."

"Yeah?" Riley said, looking over at her.

Andy nodded. "Yep. Any day." Though the longer it took, the more hollow that expectation became.

Riley turned back, watching Maddie again. After a few seconds, he nodded back. "Well, good. I'm happy for you." Though he sounded neither happy nor confident that Sam would get in touch.

From across the street came the crack of a ball against a bat and Andy looked over, saw Rebecca and half a dozen other parents on their feet, cheering their heads off. She turned back and found Riley staring past her towards the field. He was squinting into the sun, but the brief flash of longing that crossed his face was easy to see and it made her sad and made her smile all in the same instant.

"Listen," Andy began, waiting for him to give her his attention. When he did, she held his gaze, but folded her arms across her chest. "There's something I should have told you that night. I mean, I was going to, but I was going to wait, and then all that stuff happened, and I haven't seen you since then, so-"

"Spit it out, Abby," he said impatiently.

"She loves you."

The words hung in the air between them, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Like he hadn't heard a word she'd said. She was about to repeat herself when Riley gave his head a shake and focused his attention back towards the slide where Maddie was now sitting on the end, kicking her feet in the rocks at the base.

"Yeah, okay," he muttered, sounding like he didn't believe a word of it.

Andy turned towards him, whole body facing him, her back to the ball field. "No, really. She's in love with you. And I _know_ you still love her. Even if you say you're over it." She caught his eye. "You need to talk to her. Try again."

Riley looked past her, towards the ball park and for a second the tense set of his jaw relaxed, and then, a moment later, she saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

"She'll say no," he argued, his voice quiet.

Andy nodded. "She could. But I don't think she will. Not this time."

Riley took a deep breath in through his nose and then tore his eyes off the baseball diamond and settled them back on Andy's face.

"And if she does?"

Andy gave him an encouraging smile. "Then you keep asking."

For a long second, he just stared at her, and then, right before he looked away he gave a short nod. "I think maybe I'll give it some time. Let everything settle down first."

"Yeah. Yeah, makes sense," she replied. Andy took a deep breath. "Just don't wait too long, okay?" she said, her voice a little more unsteady than she'd intended. "I mean, you two have waited long enough, and if you have a chance to be happy, you should take it."

He gave her a look. "Maybe you should take your own advice."

She smiled back, thinking of the way her heart fluttered every Sunday as she got into her car, and then she nodded. "Don't worry. I'm working on it."

The moment stretched out between them, and just that quick, Andy realized it was back; the comfortable familiarity in his smile, in the way he tilted his head towards her when he spoke. After a few seconds, Andy looked back towards the ball field and hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "I think I should probably head back. Maybe actually watch some of this game." She started backing away, and Riley nodded again.

"Yeah. We'll be right behind you," he replied, giving her a smile as he stepped towards the slide to collect Maddie. "Save me a seat."

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday, June 19<strong>

"So, how are things today?" Dr. Curtis asked as she settled back into her chair, fingers wound around her pen.

Sam leaned back into the sofa, ankle balanced on his knee, his arms crossed loosely, and gave a quick nod. "Things are okay."

As he sat there in front of her, relaxed and calm, he cast a quick glance across the interior of the office, remembering the first day he'd come here. How cold and impersonal it had all seemed; the sharp corners of the frames surrounding her degrees and certifications, the crisp edges of the files stacked in her baskets, the neatly maintained magazine rack. But now he was seeing that there were plants flourishing on the tops of the filing cabinets. The walls weren't the same institutional white found in most of the other offices; instead they were a soft beige. There were pictures, small ones albeit, but pictures nonetheless, of children on the desk behind her computer monitor; hidden from her patients, but there when she needed to see them. He'd spent hours in this room over the last few months, but it seemed like during each session, he noticed something he hadn't seen the time before. It all sort of worked to pull the room together to create a place where he felt comfortable; maybe even safe. Which he supposed was the entire point.

"Care to expand on that?" Dr. Curtis asked, and Sam looked back at her, feeling not so much startled as interrupted in his perusal of her office.

He took a deep breath in through his nose and shrugged slightly. "Work's good; everything else is good. So…yeah. Things are good."

"How's the sleeping?" she asked tilting her head a little, narrowing her eyes as she observed him.

"Getting better," he replied, only partially lying. He never slept more than five hours a night, but once or twice a week, he'd fall into bed, about ready to drop dead from exhaustion and he'd sleep hard, waking up with pillow creases and sweat at his hairline, actually feeling rested.

She crossed her legs and set her notepad on her knee, foot swinging slightly.

"Your friends? Family?"

He bobbed his eyebrows. "Like I said. They're go—"

"Good," she finished, giving him a small, polite smile, like she'd grown used to this; having to draw him out every time he sat down in front of her.

He nodded, a little self-conscious. "Yeah."

She inclined her chin a little. "Still spending a lot of time alone?"

Sam inhaled through his nose and then shook his head. "Not as much as before."

"So, you're spending time with your friends?" she asked, eyebrows raised in surprise as she set aside the pad. "With Shaw and Barber?"

Again he nodded in confirmation.

"What about your sister? Sarah, right?" She asked the question with a small smile, not even glancing down at her writing for the name. "Have you talked to her?"

He blinked solemnly at her. "Not as much as I should, probably," Sam admitted. He shrugged, feeling a touch guilty because he'd been so wrapped up in everything with Andy and his downward spiral that he hadn't really given Sarah much thought lately.

"Contact is contact," she assured him. "When did you last speak with her?"

He scratched his head as he tried to remember their last conversation. "Talked to her on the phone a few times last month."

"And how is everything going there?"

For a split second, Sam felt himself retreat a little, the way he always did whenever Sarah came up. Some long-cultivated instinct to watch out for her, to protect their past together. But Dr. Curtis was watching him, a guileless expression on her face. She was sitting comfortably in her chair, fingers linked on her knee as she leaned forward a little. She needed to know because of her job, to be sure. But there was more than that in her face, in her posture.

She was interested.

Sam felt some of his reservations ebb and cleared his throat.

"She's okay. I think she said she was going out of town for a couple of weeks. Some trip with her roommate." He gave her a wry smile. "She wanted me to help her pack."

She paused for a second and then gave him a quick smile. "If I remember correctly, you told me a few sessions back that you and she don't always get along. Any progress made on that front?"

Sam winced. "It's the same. We don't…" He took a breath as he tried to figure out a way to say it. "We aren't the kind of family who calls each other every day. Our lives don't really… They don't really intersect."

"And you're okay with that?"

He blew out a deep breath and then crossed his arms. "It works for us, I guess." He hesitated for a second or two and then flung out a hand in an annoyed gesture. "I mean, do I wish things were different? Yeah, I guess, but she's living her life, and I'm living mine and sometimes when we get together we're fine. But other times, things just…" He pressed his lips together and shook his head.

"Collide?" Dr. Curtis guessed.

"Explode," he corrected, raising an eyebrow at her.

She drummed her fingers on her thigh but didn't reach for her pen. "Why do you think that is?" When he hesitated, she amended her question. "What I mean is, is there a trigger, or some topic of conversation that sets one of you off? Some behavior you don't approve of?"

Sam snorted. "I'd be here all day if we got into that."

She checked her watch. As she turned her wrist, the light caught the face and reflected off, flashing quickly. "We've still got a little time to kill. How about you give me the basics."

He took a deep breath, feeling his T-shirt stretch tight against his chest as he inhaled then relax again as he exhaled. "_Basically_," he began, feeling a little antagonistic. "She's always on me to fix something, or help out at the store. To bring her things from the city."

"She's needy?" Dr. Curtis summarized, arching her eyebrows. He nodded after a beat, eyes skating off to the side, feeling a little guilty about the label. "So, what happens when she asks?"

He shot her a look. "What do you think?"

A smile quirked at the corner of her mouth. "You do what she asks you to do." When he didn't disagree, she continued. "You could always say 'no'."

"I do." He leaned forward, got his forearms on his knees and spread his hands wide. "I say it over and over again, but I always end up there, fixing her plumbing or putting in new floorboards. Moving crap out of the basement, or… Whatever." He ran a hand over his face, fingers and thumb brushing his jaw on the way down. "She's been a little worse since everything happened with the case."

She bypassed his mention of Andy. "Why do you give in?" she asked instead. He shrugged, hands coming together to wrap around each other. "Do you feel guilty? Obligated?"

He nodded, bobbing his head a few times. "Yeah. Both." He waited for her to say something, to ask him to go on, but she didn't. And after a stretch of silence, he felt himself wanting to validate his statement. "I mean, I feel like I have to look out for her, you know? Take care of her."

"She's older than you," Dr. Curtis prompted. "She's not the one putting her life on the line every day. She's not the one going through a rough patch right now. Shouldn't _she_ be looking out for _you_?"

He made a sound, a single noise pushed out on a breath as he stared at her. He wanted to laugh, but there wasn't really anything funny about it. "This is how it's always been with us." He blinked as he remembered a flash of a memory; Sarah at 10, almost twice his age, shoving some kid on the school bus after he'd teased Sam almost to tears. He did a rapid fast forward through her attack, through his mother's death, his move from St. Catharines and admission to the academy, to 15 Division. He felt the corner of his mouth turn up and shrugged. "For a long time anyway."

Dr. Curtis was quiet for a few moments as she watched him, and then she kicked her foot a little, obviously intrigued, obviously wanting to ask more, but afraid to push too hard. "How does she feel about your job?" she finally asked, her voice quiet and patient.

Sam sat up; let his hands slide up his thighs as he straightened. "I don't think she cares one way or the other." He shrugged. "She never really brings it up."

"You never talk about it? About the cases you work or situations you've been in?"

He shook his head. "She doesn't want to hear about that. It upsets her."

"Why do you think it upsets her?"

He shook his head. "She can't deal with the violence. And I guess…. I guess I try to keep it away from her, if I can. She's…I don't know. Fragile or something."

"But she knows how dangerous your job is. She knows you go undercover."

Sam shrugged. "I downplay it. Tell her it's mostly paperwork and planning. You know, that I'm more like a…a sidekick or a wheel man or something. She doesn't know everything I do."

"Are you sure?"

This time he did laugh. "Yeah. I'm sure."

She licked her lips and then brushed at a wrinkle in the hem of her skirt. "Is it possible she knows more than you think she does?" She paused, waiting for him to answer. When he didn't, she continued. "Could it be that the reason she asks you to come down to see her, the reason she keeps telling you she needs you is because she's worried about you?" Sam just looked at her. "And maybe she's been worse since Andy left because she knows it's been tough for you and just wants to see you and know that you're okay. Maybe this is _her_ trying to take of care _you_," she added as an afterthought. "The only way she knows how."

Still, Sam said nothing, but he wasn't looking at her anymore. He was looking down at his hands, at the fingers flexing against the denim of his jeans as her words tumbled endlessly through his brain. There was a long stretch of silence as she waited for him to say something, to respond, but he had no words. He had nothing to offer up. Generally when he spoke to Sarah he went from zero to monumentally annoyed in about four seconds. It had never occurred to him that she might pull at him, badger him, because she cared. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, but still, said nothing.

Dr. Curtis picked up her notepad from the crease in the chair and returned it to her knee. "We can come back to this, if you want, but let's move on for the moment. You said work is going well. Anything there you'd like to discuss?"

Sam stretched an arm along the back of the sofa and shifted, making himself a little more comfortable. "Not really. Nothing too special."

"Any interesting cases?" she prodded.

He shook his head. "Not really. The usual stuff. I'm still not really allowed to do much more than patrol because of…" He made a vague gesture towards her. "A lot of DUI's, picking up speeders. That kind of thing."

"You're not helping with the Bishop case anymore?"

Sam looked at her, his gaze level, steady. "There is no Bishop case," he replied quietly. "We've got no leads, no tips, no more witnesses. It's dead."

She looked at him carefully, a very fine line creasing the skin between her brows. After a few seconds, she set her pen down and flapped the edge of her pad against her thigh, then tossed it on the table beside her. "Well, since everything is going so well, I'd like to ask you again." Sam lifted his eyes from her discarded notes to her face. "Where do you see yourself in five years?"

Sam was quiet for a moment, then his arm dropped from the back of the sofa and he pulled it in, folding them both against his chest, shifting instantly into defense-mode. "I'm not sure." Which wasn't to say that he hadn't been thinking about it. He had. A lot. But no matter what, no matter which choose-your-own-adventure ending he picked, it always circled back to Andy. "I don't really have a solid plan or anything."

"But you've been thinking about it?"

After a beat, he nodded; two bobs of his head. "Yeah, a little."

"Well, let's talk it through. What do you want professionally? Do you want to go back to undercover work?"

He shook his head quickly. "No. No, I'm done with that." He'd thought about it, about losing himself in the job, in another identity. It was easy to recall the rush that came every time someone threw a suspicious glance his way; never knowing when he'd get that last bit of info to sew up his case. But it simply didn't appeal to him anymore. He wanted to be settled, stable. Ready.

In case she came back.

"You ever think of applying for a different position? You could take a shot at the detective's exam." The corner of Sam's mouth twitched as her remembered Green saying something similar. "What?" she asked as she saw his amusement.

Sam shook his head as the grin snuck up on him. "Second time I've heard that in a month."

She returned his smile. "Well, it's not out of the realm of possibility; I've seen your jacket. You've got a pretty good record of arrests and interrogations. You've had a few commendations. Plus, from what I've seen and what I know of you personally, I say you'd be a shoe-in. Smart, resourceful, respected," she added, raising her eyebrows for emphasis. "Your colleagues look up to you. That goes a long way."

Embarrassed, he ran a hand up the back of his neck, gave it a scratch and then he shook his head. "I don't know. It's not really my thing." He shrugged and smiled. "Suits, you know."

Dr. Curtis glanced down at his T-shirt and jeans and smiled. "Fair enough," she conceded with a nod. "But don't dismiss the job just because of the wardrobe."

"Hey, I like working the streets," he argued. "It's more exciting than sitting behind a desk, kissing ass."

She smirked. "Okay, patrol then. At 15, I presume?" At his puzzled look, she sat back in her chair a little. "Sarah's your only real family and she's in St. Catharines. Have you ever thought about moving? Getting a fresh start?"

Sam stared at her, then after a moment, he blinked and shook his head. "No. I guess I haven't." For a second, he imagined packing up his belongings, every single fork from the drawer in the kitchen, every tool hung up on the pegboard in his garage. Pushing his furniture into the back of a moving van, standing in the middle of his empty living room… He waited for that old instinct to kick in; the one that told him to dig in his heels, to hold tight to everything he had left.

It never came.

Instead, he felt an unfamiliar lightness and a strange clutching in his heart that he hadn't felt in months. Anticipation. Six months ago, he would have balked at the thought of leaving Toronto; his home, his friends, his job. But now? There was something appealing about it. About packing up his belongings and starting over in a new place, with new people. And he could wait for Andy in St. Catharines. She'd be able to find him there. Sam drew in a deep breath, and waited for the feeling to pass. It didn't.

"No pressure," Dr. Curtis said, her tone sincere, though she was smiling at the expression on his face. "It's just an idea." She reached over towards the end table, grabbed up her notes, and started flipping through the pages once again. "How's the new partner working out?" She glanced back through a few earlier dates. "Officer Green. You've been working together…what? Four months?"

Sam nodded and swallowed hard, looking down at his lap. He rubbed his palms against the denim of his jeans and leaned forward. He had to clear his throat; had to get his head back in the conversation. "She knows the job, and she's good at it."

"Explain."

He lifted a shoulder. "She's got a good eye, she backs me up. She doesn't take any shit," he added with a short laugh and a quick shake of his head. "Doesn't let _me_ get away with much, that's for sure."

"What else?"

He shrugged again. "I don't know."

She looked at him, curious. "Would you consider her a friend?"

He hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. "Yeah. I would."

"Why?"

He leaned back into the couch with a heavy sigh, and crossed his arms over his chest once again. "I just do, okay? She doesn't…" He sucked in a breath and then let it out. Dr. Curtis was watching him, waiting for him to speak. "She doesn't see me like the rest of them do. I mean, Shaw and Barber, they're getting better about it, but every now and again, they still look at me like…like I'm broken, or something."

"Like you're fragile?" Dr. Curtis asked, keeping a careful eye on his expression, as he realized she'd thrown his own description of Sarah back into his face.

He gave her a tight smile. "Like they need to fix it. To fix _me_."

"And she doesn't?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Well, she didn't know you before. She didn't have a baseline to go by." There was a pause as she gauged his mood. "Does she know? About the case?" she added curiously.

"What case?" Sam asked, playing dumb.

Dr. Curtis didn't even blink. "Does she know about Andy?" she clarified, a no-nonsense sharpness to her words.

Again, Sam paused but then nodded once. "Yeah, she knows everything."

Dr. Curtis smiled as she looked over at him. "So, you trust her then."

It took a second, but he nodded, remembering the night in the alley when they were looking for Malone, and the way he'd basically spilled his guts to her in the wire room a few weeks back. "Yeah, I do."

As he watched, she scribbled a little on her notepad and then the hand holding the pen stalled for a moment. "Let's shift gears for a moment. What about your personal life?"

"Hmm?" He looked over at her, wrenching himself out of the hazy memory of that whole fiasco; the drinking, the kiss, the hangover.

"Where do you think you'll be in five years?" she queried.

Sam winced, bringing a hand to scrub at the back of his neck. "Ah, I don't know." He knew where he wanted to be, but where he'd actually end up… He had absolutely no clue.

She looked over at him. "Do you think you'll be married?"

An image of Andy entered his mind; curled against him in bed, her shoulder soft under his palm, warm thighs stacked against his, a ring glinting gold in the early morning light. He nodded, mouth suddenly gone dry. "I hope so," he said earnestly.

She tried to conceal the smile, but he saw it working at the edges of her mouth. "And kids?"

Again, the nod. Two or three, if he had anything to say about it. With his dark hair, their mother's brown eyes; chubby cheeks and sausage thighs toddling across the living room floor, the smell of powder and Johnson's filling his nose. "Yeah." He laughed a little through his nose. "Yeah, I think I'd like that."

She drummed her nails against the notepad and then wet her lips before looking at him. "Any idea who the woman is?"

He shifted uncomfortably against the cushion and then blew out a long breath. "Just have to wait and see, I guess," he replied, sounding a hell of a lot more upbeat than he felt.

"I guess," she repeated, looking almost surprised. For a second, he worried that he'd gone too far; that he'd played it a little too casual. His worries were dispelled a second later when she shook her head a little and looked down at her watch. "We're about out of time. Anything else you feel like sharing?"

"Honestly, I didn't really feel like sharing most of that," he joked, giving her a wry smile.

Dr. Curtis smiled back and got up from her chair, then circled around her desk to her filing cabinet. She pulled open the second drawer and dug around inside, flipping past folders until she came to the right one and pulled out a sheet of paper. She laid it on the desk and bent over, scribbled on a few lines and then signed her name with a flourish at the bottom. Leaning over the desk, she extended her arm with the paper held between two fingers.

"This is for you. All it needs is your signature, and then you never have to see me again."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "You're clearing me?" he asked in disbelief, as he reached out automatically and took it from her.

Her expression was politely sympathetic, but not pitying.

"Sam, you've been through a lot, but you're a completely different person than the man I met six months ago. No, things aren't 100% better, but it _is_ progress. You say you're sleeping again, and you look like it; no more dark circles, you're alert. You're socializing again, making new friends. You're thinking about your future. You don't need to have a plan. You just need to be open to possibilities. And it seems like you are. It's a big step forward from where you were even a few sessions ago."

He just stared at her, dumbstruck. She put out a hand, sort of a 'hold on' motion. Like 'whoa, buddy.'

"Now, there are some very obvious issues with your sister, with your past and your family that I think should definitely be explored, but like you said at our first appointment: my job is to make sure you're able to do _your_ job. And you are." Still, he said nothing, almost frozen in place like she'd renege at any second. "It's okay to smile," she joked. "It's a good thing."

Again he looked down at the paper, read over the words; technical jargon that said she was recommending any remaining restriction be lifted from his daily duties. And then, the smile came, starting small, spreading wide in a matter of seconds. Sam glanced over at her and then stretched an arm out, snatched the pen out of her hand. He bent over the end table, scribbling his name quickly on the line below hers.

"I just bring this to Best, and we're done?" he asked, standing up and folding the paper, rolling it in his hands.

She nodded. "Yes. Of course, if you ever feel you need to talk, to sort things out, I encourage you to do so. About anything. Sarah, Andy, whatever. This ordeal is probably going to stick with you for a while, and there's nothing wrong with that. Just know that if it gets difficult again, you can always come see me."

He nodded, and spun toward the door, took a step forward, but then turned back. He moved up to the desk and stuck out his hand, grinning at the surprised smile that came over her face. After a pause, she shook his hand, her cool small hand dwarfed as it was enveloped inside his for a few brief seconds.

"Thanks, Doc. For this," he finished, waving the paper.

"No problem. Enjoy the rest of your day," she said, dismissing him with a smile as he strode out the door.

* * *

><p>A few hours later, he was still in a sort of disbelieving fog about the whole thing as he entered his final report of the day. Across from him at, at her own desk, Green was flipping through her note pad, adding items to her own paperwork. She was bobbing her head to some imaginary beat, humming to herself as she worked, and he caught her eye, laughing when the tips of her ears turned pink in embarrassment.<p>

"There's a happy guy," Shaw said as he walked quickly towards them. "Haven't seen that on your face in a while. That whole 'smile' thing. You win the lottery?"

Sam showed him his teeth. "Close enough. What do you want?"

"Well, since you two are on desk, mind running a couple names through the system?"

"Where's your rook?" Sam asked.

"Epstein?" Shaw tipped his head towards the exit. "He's wrestling a suspect into interrogation. We found a couple of wallets on him. Not his. He might be that mugger that's been targeting college kids."

"And you can't use a keyboard because..." Green prompted, her heel planted on the floor as she swiveled her chair.

"Carpal tunnel's acting up," Shaw replied with a straight face. "Old ping pong injury." He tore a slip of paper from his notepad.

"He means band," Sam said to Green. "An old marching band injury."

"Hey," Shaw warned, pointing a finger. "Watch it. The French horn is hardcore. They're like the Marines of the marching band." He swung his hand between the two of them, and Piper glanced over at Sam, a smile wrinkling the corners of her eyes. After an exaggerated sigh, she reached out and snatched the paper from Oliver's hand.

"Thank you, Green," Shaw said loudly and looked at Sam pointedly. "Why can't you be as nice as her, huh?"

"She's not nice," Sam said with a laugh. "She just wants you to leave." Green didn't respond, didn't even look over as she opened the computer program, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

"Yeah, well, lucky for you both, I have dangerous criminals to intimidate," Shaw said with a mocking bow, and then he turned on his heel and walked away.

Sam was still grinning when his phone rang a couple minutes later. He pulled it out of his breast pocket and held it to his ear.

"Swarek." He leaned back in his chair.

"Wow, that's polite. No 'hello'?" Her voice sounded a little tinny, a little far away.

"Sarah, I'm working," he complained. "What do you need?" And then, because he'd been talking about her, because he'd been thinking about her earlier in the day, he felt a flash of regret at his tone. For a second, he held the picture of her in his mind, the way she'd looked the last time he'd seen her. Dark hair curling down to the middle of her back, threaded with silver that reflected in the light. She was small, with tiny bones and lean muscles, and her clothes always hung just a little too loosely for Sam's comfort. But the natural blush in her cheeks attested to her health, as did the sparkle of green in her eyes. For the first time in a long time, Sam was glad to hear her voice.

"You act like I only call you when I need something," she said with a laugh.

"That's because you only call me when you need something," he teased in a voice that was so patient it surprised him. "Seriously, what's going on?"

"Actually," she said, pausing for nothing more than dramatic effect. "I'm calling to see if you got that letter I sent."

"Since I have no clue what you're talking about, I guess I gotta say no," he said, stretching to snatch the papers coming off the printer. "Listen, I'm at work. Can I call you later?"

"Like you would," she replied sharply. "Anyway, it's good that you're at work. That's where I sent it."

"What?" he asked and froze, arm halfway extended across the desk to hand Green the documents. "Why?"

Piper leaned up and took the papers from his hand, watching him carefully as he sat there, looking down at the surface of his desk, trying to make sense of what Sarah was saying.

"I was on vacation for the last few weeks. Adam and I went to this seminar and then we went on that cruise. Remember? Anyway we got back week before last, and while we were gone, Hilary – you remember Hilary? That blonde girl that was there the last time you came by? She's been working for us for a while, and she's actually doing pretty well…"

"Sarah…" Sam ground out. "Get on with it."

"God, you're touchy. Anyway, she was watching the store while were gone, and she opened most of the boxes, took care of all the inventory, but she left all the personal mail in a pile on the desk, and I thought I got through it all." Sam leaned back in his chair, and rubbed his eyes, waiting for the punch line.

"Okay…."

"So after a while, I realized I was missing a few bills, and started looking around, and found a whole bunch of stuff that had fallen behind the desk. And there was this big envelope addressed to me. You know, one of the yellow ones with the bubble wrap on the inside?"

"Mhmm." He cracked open an eyelid. Across the desks, Green was watching him with a confused, but amused expression on her face, tossing him questioning glances as she stapled together the personal information on Shaw's mugging victims.

"So, inside this thing was _another_ envelope, smaller and all sealed up. But this one had _your_ name on it."

Sam's eyes snapped open.

"And you sent it _here_?" he asked, his eyebrows rising in disbelief. His eyes scanned the squad room, looking for the woman with the mail cart. She was nowhere to be seen. His eyes went to the clock on the wall. Almost four. She was long gone.

"The address was already written on the envelope. It already had a stamp on it," Sarah was saying, her voice growing a little more agitated as she picked up on his sudden panic. "I just dropped it in the mail. I didn't open it, if that's what you're freaking out about."

"Hold on, Sarah," he said and then set the phone down on the desk before reaching towards the large wire in-basket, overflowing with crap that had been dropped off during the day. He could hear her chattering away on the other end, but paid her little attention as he started scooping papers out onto the desk. When it was empty, he dug through them, setting each page into a neat stack, one by one, until about 2/3 of the way through, he found it.

Sam pinched the corner between his thumb and forefinger and held it up off the surface of the desk. It was probably one of the smallest manila envelopes they made, not quite twice the width of a $20 bill, with a silver fastener pressed flat against the flap. He tipped it, and felt something shift inside, moving against the thick paper. Then, he flipped it over, and his breath caught in his throat. His name and the station's address were printed in capital letters, virtually indistinguishable from any other handwriting, unless someone knew what to look for. It was unmistakably Andy's writing; the slight slant of the "D" in "Division" and the swoop of the "K" at the end of his name solidified that fact in his mind.

He could hear Sarah calling his name, a small electronic noise, barely audible over the sound of his quickened pulse, and he picked up the phone, held it to his ear.

"Sarah," he said, interrupting her story about the Bahamas or wherever she'd spent her vacation. "There's no return address on this."

Something was happening to Sam's heart. It had gone from a slow, steady beat, increasing in pace the longer he talked to Sarah, but now, it was trip-hammering all over the place; beating in his ears until he had to physically pause to collect himself.

"Yeah, I know," she was saying. "There wasn't one on my envelope either."

"What about the postmark?'

"God, Sam. I know I looked at it, but I don't remember."

"Jesus Christ," he exclaimed loudly, feeling bad the second the words left his lips.

"What?! Do you have any idea how much mail a bookstore gets in a month? We get stuff from all over. It could have been from Mexico for all I know." She kept talking, a long drawn out excuse about how she'd been opening mail, paying bills, responding to emails since she'd gotten off the plane the week before, and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Sorry, Sarah. Gotta call you back," he said quickly as he sank back into his chair and then he set his phone on the desk and opened the envelope. He pinched open the fastener, ran his finger under the flap, tearing the last inch or so. He tipped it, but nothing came out; so he looked inside. Wedged in, nearly buckling against the tight confines was what looked like an index card. Sam stuck his fingers inside, felt the slick surface of a photograph, and pulled it out.

He didn't even realize he was holding his breath until he flipped it over.

It was a standard size, a little creased and bent back at the top so she could fit it into the envelope. For a moment, he looked at it, not even hearing the hurried slap of feet against the floor, or the telephones ringing, or the chatter of Peck and Diaz behind him at the coffee cart. Sam just stared at it, taking in the image, memorizing it.

It was a tourist picture, of a group of people standing along a guardrail, waterfall in the background. He scanned the surface, looking for a familiar face; in the foreground, around the edges, in the groups crowing around a large boulder, on benches. He recognized no one. But the setting… The setting he'd seen before.

Someone said his name. Once, and then a second time, and Sam finally pulled himself out of the picture.

"What is it?" Green was asking, and he lifted his eyes to her face. All trace of amusement had disappeared, and instead, concern was drawn in fine lines across her forehead. "Swarek," she said again. "Are you okay?"

But he still had no words. Nothing he could offer up in explanation. So instead, he just shook his head and rose from his chair. Then he tucked the photo into his breast pocket and pulled the keys to the squad car from the drawer. Finally, he looked once more at Green.

"I gotta go. Can you cover for me?"

"Yeah," she said, still looking at him a little strangely. "Where are you going?"

He shook his head. "Just gotta run home quick."

"Well, what if Barber or Best comes looking for you? How long are you going to be gone?"

He shrugged as he swung the keychain around on his index finger and started backing away. "I don't know. An hour? Maybe longer." He spun around, took a step and then turned back. "Look." He glanced around. "Just tell them I went for coffee or something. Tell them I had an errand."

Her eyebrows shot up, but after a moment, she nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

Sam turned around and strode out of the room before she could get any more questions out, hitting the door with his shoulder and jogging out onto the lot. He broke probably half a dozen traffic laws trying to get home, moving around traffic, rolling through a stop sign, and speeding the rest of the way, finally screeching to a halt in front of his house.

He was out of the car, up the walk, and got his key into the lock so quickly, he barely even remembered any of it. In fact, everything was pretty much a blur until he was pounding down the hallway to the bedroom, shoving open the door and standing in front of the closet.

He wrenched open the doors, and shoved blankets and pillows out of the way until he got his hands on the banker's box he'd taken from his sister's place in St. Catharines. He pulled it down, flipped the lid off with a flick of his thumbs and dumped the whole mess onto his bed.

* * *

><p>Back out in the hallway, the door to the linen closet crept open, just an inch, and Jimmy Weston peered out the crack. He was practically holding his breath as he stared into the bedroom. As he watched, Sam Swarek was digging through a pile of crap on his bed. A minute ago, Weston had been picking through the bookcases flanking the entertainment center for what was probably the third time, pulling out anything that looked like it could be a photo album, or a file. He'd just replaced a stack of old car magazines when he'd heard the vehicle outside, heard the footfalls on the landing, and finally, heard the key in the lock. He hadn't had time to book out the back door, but the closet had been close enough. He'd just pulled the door closed when Swarek came barreling down the hallway, and then he'd squatted down into a crouch, his knife pulled from his back pocket, and tucked tightly into his fist. A dozen or so old coats and discarded shirts hung behind him, their sleeves draping over his shoulders and arms as Swarek turned to enter the bedroom.<p>

Over the last month or so, Weston been waiting for something. Anything, in fact. A confirmation. The barest hint that Swarek knew where Andy McNally was being hidden; that they were somehow in contact. And up until now, there had been nothing. Not even the promise of a clue. But this…coming home early, the crazed pace as he stormed through the house, the rough toss of the box onto his bed; in short, the change in his routine… It was unusual. Noteworthy, even.

Weston spied on him, a shaft of light falling through the crack in the door and across the length of his face as he watched Swarek pawing through the pile of papers and old junk. From a messy pile of old ticket stubs, ragged birthday cards, and other faded memories, he finally extracted a small piece of paper, just the right size for a photograph. Swarek never took his eyes off the piece of paper, not even when he pulled out his phone and hit a single button. He brought it to his ear, listened for a few seconds and then turned away towards the window as he spoke.

"Yeah, we need to talk."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks again for putting up with my pokey-ness. I'm sincerely hoping the next chapter won't take so long :) <strong>


	15. Chapter 14

**AN: Sorry for the delay on this chapter, guys. I don't have a good excuse, so I won't bore you with a bad one. This is another ridiculously long chapter, and I had thoughts of splitting it up, but thought that you'd probably find it wholly unsatisfying if I did that, so...this is what you get :)**

**Unsurprisingly, I've gotten a lot of anonymous reviewers asking when I was planning on continuing this story. I'd really love to answer those questions, but unfortunately, can't do so if you don't log in before you post. If you don't feel comfortable leaving your name on the review page, feel free to PM me. I'll do my best to get back to you promptly.**

**Thanks go out to all the regulars, because there has been no end to the neuroses involved in this chapter, but special thanks go out to stenogirl, royalfunkstar, and melicom, and especially to deedee920 for loads of support, both technical and emotional, and to giraffe who provided me with loads of visual material that I needed to write the section at the end of this chapter. This one is 85% Sam. Hope you like it.**

**** Oh, and in my world, Zoe isn't quite as um...abrasive...as she was in the show. In my version, she actually likes Sam ;)**

* * *

><p>"<em>Is that it?" <em>

_Sam's head snapped up and he looked at Andy, following her with his eyes as she moved through the room and finally sank down cross-legged on the carpet on the other side of the coffee table. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and combed back from her face. She had half a dozen crackers balanced precariously in the palm of her hand._

_He raised his eyebrows at her. "You know I'm making steaks, right?"_

_She rolled her eyes. "I'll still be hungry, Mom. Is that it?" she repeated, her chin jutting out towards the object he held in his hand._

_This time he nodded, bobbing his head twice._

"_Can I see it?" she asked with a note of expectancy._

_He stretched out his arm and dropped the cheap flip phone into her open hand. She turned it this way and that and then handed it back. _

"_Doesn't look like much."_

_Sam gave a short laugh. "It's __**not**__ much. Prepaid, no bells or whistles." He stuffed the phone back into the box and tucked it next to him, into the corner of the couch. Then he looked back at her. "You still okay with Sundays?"_

_Andy nodded, eyes already on the other objects scattered across the table. "Twelve sharp," she answered back, distracted. "Hey, what's all this other stuff?"_

_Sam looked at the items strewn haphazardly around in front of him, then kneaded the back of his neck as he made a face._

"_Just some stuff from that box Sarah gave me." He'd just emptied it out, clumsily scooping handful after handful out onto the table and into a giant heap._

"_Oh," Andy replied in a quiet voice laced with curiosity. At the sound of it, he looked up and studied her face for a few seconds. After the fight they'd had over this very box, she was trying her best to keep her eyes off his personal items, but they kept landing on things: the ever-growing sloppy pile of pictures he'd been tossing off to the side, a few old report cards, battered and creased from being packed and repacked into box after box for twenty-some years, half a dozen old playing cards, mismatched images printed on the backs. _

"_Andy," he began, his voice just as soft._

"_Why are you going through it now?" She'd settled her attention on a crinkled tissue-thin piece of paper, the print faded almost entirely away. Her hands were twisted together in her lap, fingers flexing into fists as she resisted the urge to snatch it up._

_He frowned. "Sarah's missing something. She thought she might have tossed it in by mistake."_

"_Hmm." She was crunching away on her snack, barely hearing him and clearly far more interested on the spread in front of her. _

"_Andy?" She didn't even twitch. "Andy?" Sam tried a little louder, smiling as she started, jolted out of her trance. "It's okay. You can look."_

_She held his eyes for a moment. "Are you sure?" She tipped her head towards the mess. "I mean, it's important to you."_

"_**You're**__ important to me," he answered quickly. It wasn't exactly the most sophisticated profession of love, but he meant it; far more than he'd realized even a moment ago. They'd been saying all sorts of things to each other over the last three weeks, making promises and plans, learning all the little things about each other that would have taken months to learn if it had been any sort of normal situation. And considering all that, the fact that she meant more to him than some stupid box and a pile of forgotten memories . . . . It was something she needed to hear. Something he needed to say._

_She exhaled, perhaps a touch more heavily than usual, and a smile spread across her face. "You're important to me too." _

_They sat there looking at each other as the seconds ticked by and then Andy tipped herself up onto her knees and slid the stack of pictures towards herself. _

"_So how long 'til we eat?" she asked as she stuffed the last of the crackers into her mouth, then rubbed her hands on her jeans. She grabbed up the pictures and then started pouring over them._

_Sam dragged his eyes away from her and scooped up a stack of papers. "I've got the potatoes in already, so maybe a half hour?"_

"_So, we have time to start a fire?" _

_Sam's gaze shot to the fireplace and then back to Andy. The corner of her mouth twitched as she tried to appear completely engrossed in the task at hand; like there was absolutely no way she was getting up to do it. _

_He blew out a loud breath and set down the papers. "Just give me a few minutes." _

_He stood up, and moved around the table, but turned back when he heard her say, "Hey."_

_Andy leaned up and crooked a finger at him, and he bent over and put his hand on the coffee table, letting her clutch the front of his shirt with her free hand to pull him in for a quick salty kiss. When she released him, she immediately went back to flipping through pictures, and he headed into the kitchen. He took a second to check the food in the oven, confirming that it needed a bit more time. Then he stepped into his shoes and went outside to retrieve an armload of wood from the tarp-covered pile stacked next to the garage. _

_When he walked back into the living room in his socks, Andy was on her butt in front of the fireplace, and the contents of the box had been transferred from the table to the carpet and were spread out in front of her. _

_Her eyes lifted to his and she shrugged one shoulder and gave him a sheepish look. "I just thought it might be easier this way. You know, make piles or whatever."_

"_Yeah." Sam gave her a quick nod. "Whatever works." He carefully set the wood down, knelt in front of the hearth and got to work, tossing a glance over his shoulder at her every now and again. Her head was bent over the photos, and she was giving each one a thorough once over before setting it into one of four neat piles. Something about it, about the care she was taking handling his things, about the way her lips curved into an almost shy smile every time she picked up a new one made his heart pound a little harder. It made him wish they'd done this earlier and done it right; that they'd just spent a weekend hibernating in front of the fire, talking low and slow together. Sam took a long breath and added it to the list in his head, a running count of all the things they'd do when he got back._

_He'd just stacked the logs inside, stuffed a few loosely wadded bits of newspaper underneath and reached up to the mantle for the lighter when Andy spoke from behind him._

"_So, what are we looking for, anyway?"_

_He didn't answer her right away. Instead, he got the paper burning, waited a minute or so until he saw the wood catch and then backed up, finding an open spot on the carpet across from her. The papers he'd been going through were still on the coffee table, in a neatened pile near the edge, and he stretched out an arm to get ahold of them. After he got comfortable, he responded._

"_Sarah said she's missing her birth certificate."_

_Andy glanced up. "And she just noticed?"_

_Sam shrugged. "She probably hasn't needed it for a while, but her passport expired and she wants to go on a cruise next spring." He finished up with the bunch he was looking at, set the documents aside, and then grabbed another stack that Andy had shoved together._

"_Can't she just order another one?" Andy asked as she picked up a thick manila envelope and thumbed it open._

"_That's what I said," Sam muttered, then looked up quickly as he heard a squeak._

_Andy had emptied out the envelope, dumping a random selection of photographs onto the carpet between her legs. She snatched up a photo and held it out to him, grinning like it was her birthday. _

"_Please tell me this is you." _

_Sam shot her a warning look and took the photo from her, taking in the small dark-haired boy sitting on a rocking horse, naked as the day he was born, except for a red plastic cowboy hat._

_He felt the corners of his mouth twitch. "In my defense, I was three."_

"_And apparently in a strange nudist phase," Andy teased, sticking the tip of her tongue out between her teeth._

_Sam frisbeed the picture back to her. "You're hilarious," he replied, his tone bone dry. But he said nothing when he saw her surreptitiously slide the photo into the pocket of her hoodie. _

_He bypassed the newspaper clippings, having read them numerous times before, and instead went for a small accordion folder with an elastic cord wrapped around it. He got it open and then started picking through the papers inside, feeling a small rush of victory when he found not only Sarah's birth certificate, but also his own. He'd had a reprinted copy for longer than he could remember, figuring that the original was long gone, disappeared in a move, lost in the business after his mother's funeral. It was a little strange to hold it in his hand; a little piece of paper that linked him so personally to the past. Just for a fleeting moment, he wondered who had first packed these away; if it had been his aunt Carol, his dad, Sarah, or even his mother, so long ago._

_In the kitchen, the oven timer went off and Sam's head came up. Andy didn't even pause in her perusal of the photos, so he closed up the envelope, wrapped the cord around it and tossed it onto the coffee table. Then, he got up and went in to take care of their dinner. _

_By the time he got the potatoes out and on a plate covered with foil, got the steaks under the broiler, and returned to the living room, Andy had almost all the pictures organized except for one single photo which she was holding between her thumb and forefinger. _

"_What about this one?" Andy asked as he sank down in front of her, mindful of the contents of the box still between them._

_He drew in a deep breath and his eyebrows shot up as he leaned over and looked at it without taking it from her._

_It was a photograph of his family, minus his dad. The people in it were small, shot from a distance to allow the scenery to take center stage, but he knew it was them. He was being held close against his mother's side, her hand tucked under his thigh to keep him on her hip. Sarah crowded in on the other side, unruly curls falling into her face even then, even as small as she'd been, maybe five years old. They were leaning up against a wooden guardrail which separated them from a sort of wilderness scene, water cascading over rock from high above them. In the corner of the photo, was the edge of a plaque, probably with the name of the park or overlook or wherever they were; the rest of it was out of sight of the lens. There were only a few letters visible, and the size and grain of the 35-year-old photograph made it impossible to read._

_He shook his head. "No idea."_

"_You don't recognize them?" Andy asked, surprised. She flicked her wrist to study it once more, then back towards him again._

"_Well, I mean, that's my mom and me, and that's Sarah. But I don't know where we are. Does it say anything on the back?" He took the picture and flipped it over, but there was nothing written on it. Sam handed it back and shrugged in dismissal. "Sarah might know. Maybe I'll give it back to her." _

_As he drew his hand back, Andy reached out and grabbed for it, lacing her fingers through his. When he raised his eyes to hers, she was looking at him with a cautious expression on her face, clearly concerned._

"_You okay?" she asked quietly. _

_Sam nodded and gave her a smile. "Yeah. Great." He stroked his thumb over hers and then glanced down at the large amount of mementos still left to sift through, and all at once, it just felt like a lot, like too much for one night. "You know, I found what I needed, so let's just clean the rest of this up." He started shuffling the items together, but Andy slapped at his hands._

"_Hey, I organized this. Hold on." He watched as she dragged the box over, first setting in the stack of papers and clippings, then the comic books, and then she tucked a small rusted tin inside. Along the side, she slid in the envelope full of pictures and a few other random bits they hadn't managed to get through. _

_Outside, the wind was howling, rushing past the house, whipping tree branches around. But inside, the room was comfortable, warm. The fire was crackling loudly, finally tall, heat blasting off it, touching his shoulder, arm and knee. As Sam watched, Andy turned her face towards it briefly, allowing the firelight to touch her cheeks, the tip of her nose. It reflected off her hair, glinting and glowing. He wasn't sure if it was the fire or the stirred up memories or just her, but sweat was beginning to prickle under the collar of his shirt. He gave into the sudden urge to run his hand through her hair, and felt it warm and soft between his fingers._

_Her eyes moved to his, startled at the abrupt movement, at the sudden closeness. In another instant, Sam was on his knees, and his hands moved quickly against her face, one side cool, the side facing the fire hot to the touch. He cradled her jaw in his palms, inched his fingers into the mass of her hair and as she tipped her face up to his, her hands traveled up over his arms to his shoulders and pulled him to her. _

_His mouth touched hers the moment before her back hit the carpet. Andy's legs fell wide, allowing him to settle his hips between her thighs as his mouth played against hers, then moved down over the angle of her jaw to her neck. Her heels were digging into the backs of his thighs as her hands gripped at his sweatshirt, pulling at it, tugging at it. Sam rocked back onto his knees and whipped it off, then sank down again, wedging himself up against her. He worked his hands up underneath her shirt, pushing it up and over her head. Then his palms were hot against her skin, sliding up over taut muscle, hard ribs, soft breasts. As he slid a hand into her bra and thumbed roughly over one of her nipples, she cried out softly, and the sound was just… Out of everything, he knew he'd remember that sound for the rest of his life. He'd probably hear it in his sleep twenty years down the road. And then he heard another noise come from her mouth._

"_Is something burning?" _

_He lifted his head from where he'd been biting gently at her pulse point, brain a little fogged over. "What?"_

"_Something's burning!" Andy gave him a shove and rolled out from underneath him. As he pushed himself back up onto his knees, the smoke alarm went off, and then, in a second later, he was on his feet, pounding through the house back toward the kitchen. _

_Andy was on his heels, and as he went to the oven and dropped open the door, letting out a huge plume of smoke, she went to the back door and flung it open. _

_The steaks weren't quite on fire, but they were charred, ruined for sure. Sam pulled out the broiler pan and cursed as he dropped it onto the stovetop with a loud clatter. Andy was on a chair over the sink, beating at the air around the smoke alarm with a dish towel. _

"_Just pull out the battery," Sam yelled over the jarring noise. _

_She stretched up, ripped off the cover and popped out the battery, and the silence was startling, almost jarring; Sam's ears were still ringing. As she climbed down off the chair, Andy stared at the burned meat with wide eyes, and to her credit, she did an amazing job of holding back the laughter. But the second her gaze met his, it erupted; peals of absolute hysteria. _

_The battery fell heavily to the floor as she lifted her arms and looped them around his neck. He held her tightly to him, feeling her shake with laughter as his heart slowed down a little. She looked over her shoulder at the steaks, and then back at him._

"_Hey, at least you tried, right?" _

_He narrowed his eyes at her and a felt a grin creeping up on him. "Would've finished if the alarm hadn't gone off." He stroked a hand down her bare back, sweeping a thumb over the catch on her bra._

_Andy ran her lower lip through her teeth as she thought about that. Her eyes flicked down to his mouth and back to his eyes. "Well, we could probably finish," she suggested, a sly smile widening on her face. "I mean, unless you want to clean this up, or whatever."_

_Sam chuckled, and fisted his hand in the waistband of her jeans. He took one step back, and then another, and another, towing her out of the kitchen and back into__the living room._

* * *

><p><em>.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday, June 19 4:54 PM<strong>

"We need to talk," Sam said, staring down at both photos, pinned one above the other in his right hand.

If you ignored the people, the images were very nearly identical, save for the finish and the natural changes and growth in the scenery. The trees were larger, older, and the platform was newer in the second photo; the guardrail even more so – probably replaced or repaired sometime in the last ten years or so. But the cliff in the background, the waterfall . . . . They were exactly the same.

He was having a little difficulty catching his breath.

"What about?" Sarah asked, sounding like she couldn't care less.

"Remember that box of crap I took from your place last winter? I found this picture in it." He glanced down at the older one with the crimped edges, covered in a fine patina of age and dust with a deep crease running across one corner. "Looks like it's us and mom at some park. Somewhere with a waterfall."

"You're going to have to give me more than that."

"Well, shit, Sarah," he complained in a sharp, sarcastic tone. "I don't know. At the bottom, there's a patio or something with a big rock right smack in the middle. Maybe a vacation we took?"

She was quiet for a few seconds. "I don't know . . . ."

"C'mon Sarah," he prompted, impatiently.

"Well, shit, Sam," she shot back mockingly. "It's not like you're giving me a lot to go on. Let me think a minute."

She took almost the whole minute. Time stretched out, every second ticking by slower than the last. Finally, Sam just sunk down on the edge of his mattress, facing the yawning bedroom door. "I don't even remember us taking any trips."

"That's because you were too young," Sarah reminded him, her voice somewhat muted, almost subdued. "After Dad got out of Maplehurst, things were different. We didn't have the money."

"Yeah, I know," he replied. Sam took a breath, waiting for her to speak. When she didn't, he asked again trying to get her back on topic. "So, where did we go?"

"I'm trying to remember. One time we went to this farm up north. Someone Mom went to grade school with I think. Or maybe they grew up next door to each other, I can't remember. Lots of horses, lots of manure."

"No; that's not it." He held the pictures up again. "It has a different feel to it. This place has mountains. Lots of trees. Pine trees."

"Sam, hold on a sec." He rolled his eyes and then listened to Sarah hold a muffled conversation with someone else in the room. A minute later, she was back. "Okay, where was I?"

"Trips we took, Sarah. Get with it," he snapped impatiently.

"Yeah, piss me off. That'll help us get to the bottom of this," she retorted snidely. Sam said nothing – sure that if he opened his mouth one more time, he'd say something he'd regret. "Okay, I think we took a trip out west somewhere."

"How far west?" Sam was trying to keep his breath even, trying to keep everything under tight control. To the west, the mountains stretched from Alberta to the ocean and from Alaska down into Mexico. Even ignoring the obvious outliers, there were still around half a million square miles of possible terrain to narrow down.

"I don't know. We were both pretty young. I don't even know if you were walking yet. I just remember riding the train forever. At least I think . . . I _think _we took the train."

"What do you mean, you 'think'?"

She took a deep breath. "I'm not sure, okay. It could have been another time."

"Jesus, Sarah! You remember everything! You remember the dress you wore on your first day of school, and you can't remember _this_?"

"A lot of things happened between then and now, Sam," she reminded him sharply. "I mean, it wasn't last week. It was almost forty years ago." There was a pause, and then her voice came back, less abrasive and more thoughtful. "A lot of things have happened since then."

He exhaled heavily. "Yeah, I know. I know." He bent over, got his elbows down onto his knees and rubbed at his eyes as they sat there together in silence, breath rasping over the phone. He wished that he'd paid more attention during their visits, all those times Sarah attempted to talk about their parents and their past. "I just really need this, Sarah. And I never ask you for anything, so can you just _try_?" he asked, barely recognizing the sound of his own tired, desperate voice.

At first she didn't say anything and Sam debated whether he should speak or just say, "screw it" and hang up the phone. On the other end, he heard her swear and heard the loud screech of her chair as she leaned back. He could picture her, feet in Doc Martins more than ten years old up on the desktop, glasses dangling from her fingertips, nearly hitting the floor as she leaned back and rubbed at the bridge of her nose with her free hand. He'd seen her do the same thing time and time again when he'd visit and knock on the door to her office. He'd enter and find her bent over the books, dark corkscrew curls falling into her face as she looked up at him. And then she'd kick back, with one long stretch as she got herself comfortable.

"Don't you have some crack forensics team up there?"

"Huh?"

He heard the slap of her boots hitting the floor as she sat up suddenly. "Well, there's gotta be something in those pictures that would tell you where it is. I mean, maybe they have some big waterfall database." He snorted, acknowledging the joke. "I'm sorry, Sam," she added then, her voice a shadow of the cavalier tone she'd used just a moment before. "I'll think about it some more and call you if I come up with anything."

"No, you're right," he conceded with a short nod. "It _was_ a long time ago." He took a deep breath and then nodded to himself. "But that was a good idea. I'll go check with the tech guys."

"Let me know if you figure it out, okay?" Sarah asked quietly.

Again Sam nodded, dropping his head down until his chin almost touched his chest, forgetting she couldn't see him. "Yeah, I will," he replied, his voice just as soft. And with that, he hung up and stood, tucking both pictures into the breast pocket of his shirt, then strode from the room and out of the house.

* * *

><p>A little more than a half hour later, Sam glanced down at his watch as he tapped a knuckle against a window with wire cross-hatched through the glass, and peered into the room. The door to the lab was closed and the room was mostly dark, but back around the corner, there was a light on. He knocked again, scanning up and down the hall for someone who could help him out. Without warning, the door opened, the handle jerked out from under his hand as it swung inward. A dark-haired man in his early thirties stared back at him.<p>

"Swarek, what are you doing here?" Jose Ramos said, brows drawn together. "I don't have anything for you today."

"Yeah, I know," Sam said, taking a step forward, forcing Ramos back into the room. "I just need you to take a look at something for me."

Ramos shook his head. "Sorry, man. Shift's over and I've got to pick up my kid. Eastling's running late, but she'll be here any minute. She can do it."

"Eastling hates me," Sam argued.

A huge grin split Ramos' face. "I think 'hate' is a little strong but whatever. That's _your_ fault, man. Learn to call a girl back after you take her out."

"It was two years ago!" Sam snapped, his patience wearing dangerously thin. "C'mon, what do you want?"

Ramos shrugged and crossed his arms as he looked at Sam appraisingly. "Got a couple of parking tickets."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "How many?"

"Five."

The frustrated laugh burst out of him. "How the hell did you get five parking tickets?"

"Hey, can you fix them or not?"

Sam settled his hands on his hips and tried to stare him down, but Ramos didn't move a muscle; his expression never changed. Sam exhaled loudly. "Fine. I'll _try_," he clarified when he saw the triumphant look on the other man's face. "But this stuff? My stuff? It stays between us. No paperwork," he warned with a serious look.

"You were never here," Ramos replied with a grin. He took two steps toward a long counter studded with computer equipment. "Let's see what you've got." He climbed up onto the stool and held his hand out, but kept his eyes on the computer as he clicked the mouse a few times, and a program blossomed to life on the screen. "What exactly am I looking for?"

"I need a location. Wherever this park is." Sam handed over both photos and Ramos took a quick glance at them before he laid them in the scanner.

"In Ontario?" he asked, shooting Sam a skeptical look.

"Doubt it."

In a few minutes, both were side by side on the computer screen. Ramos gave back the paper copies, and then swiveled a little on his stool as he clicked the mouse twice and the pictures blew up, filling the entire screen. Sam had them both memorized at this point, but Ramos was a fresh set of eyes, and he was scrolling over them, peering at both images with the knowledge and instincts from almost ten years of forensics experience to aid him. Sam turned away as the other man worked, let his gaze travel over the counter in front of him, full of stacks of file folders, random pieces of camera and computer equipment set out just so.

"Here." He spun back around at the sound of Ramos' voice. He was pointing at the monitor, finger barely skimming the screen and then he laid his hand back on the mouse and the photo on the left, the one from Sarah, zoomed in. In the foreground, near the edge of the image, a man stood, hat on his head, a plaid shirt tucked into jeans. But the clothing wasn't what Ramos was interested in. He circled the mouse around the man's arm. No. Around the newspaper folded under the man's arm.

"Just need to enhance," he muttered under his breath. He sectioned off the corner and after a few clicks of the mouse, the paper came sharply into focus; and across the top, in tall capitals, were the letters "_OUVER SUN_."

"Is that…?" Sam trailed off, getting a hand down on the desk, leaning low over Ramos' shoulder to get a closer look.

Ramos threw him a weird look, and Sam moved back. "Hold on," he answered, turning back to the monitor. "Let's see what we can do with that." He pulled up a browser and typed the string of letters into Google. The first thing to pop up was the official site of the _Vancouver Sun_ newspaper. Ramos said nothing and instead, started entering other search terms into the box: he tried a few different combinations of "British Columbia", "waterfall", "Vancouver", "park".

It took a couple of tries, a few minutes of scrolling through pictures of random unnamed waterfalls, until Sam barked out, "Hold it," and tapped an image towards the left of the screen. "That one."

Ramos clicked on the picture, and within seconds, Sam found himself staring at an official government site; the words "Shannon Falls Provincial Park" were printed across the center of the screen.

"There you go, man," Ramos said quietly, fingers tapping restlessly on the desk. "Straight up 99 from Vancouver."

"Vancouver," Sam repeated in disbelief. The word echoed inside his head, drowning out everything else. Could they have taken her any farther away? He was still staring at the screen. Underneath the banner and title were the park's hours of operation, links to use if someone needed park use permits, picnic reservations, maps and more.

"Swarek, man, are you okay?"

Sam glanced over at Ramos and nodded quickly, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "Yeah. Just a big case." he said with a nod to the monitor. He turned around, and almost made it to the door before Ramos called him back.

"Hold on a second. There's something else here. On the other picture."

"What?" Sam asked sharply. He strode back to the desk, once more bending over Jose's shoulder as he pointed to Andy's photo.

In one of the upper corners, camouflaged in the dark green of the trees was a spidery tracing of black ink, difficult to make out, even big as it was on the screen. Sam fished the pictures out of his pocket, then held up the right one. They were faint, but now that he knew they were there, he could see definite markings; when he ran his finger over the back, he could feel the indentation made by her pen.

"Let me clean it up a little." Ramos did his thing, clicking the mouse in a rapid tattoo, zooming in even farther and making a few enhancements. When he'd finished, the characters jumped out at Sam, and he stilled, eyes trained on the screen.

_S/12._

"That mean something to you?" Jose asked, looking confused.

Sam straightened, and then slowly shook his head. "Nope." It was almost embarrassing that he was having so much trouble keeping a cool exterior, keeping his expression neutral, disinterested. In reality, he felt like he was two seconds away from racing out of the room and down to his truck. It was a simple code, not sophisticated in any way, but one that only the two of them could be sure of – a day and time for contact. Only this time, it wouldn't be a phone call.

"What are you doing?"

Sam's head snapped around and he suppressed a groan at the sight of the blonde woman standing in the doorway, her large purse slung over her shoulder and a stack of file folders tucked into her elbow. He heard Ramos stand up behind him and glanced back. The imaging program had been shut down and Ramos was shoving the stool into the recess under the desk.

"Hey, Eastling," he said in a deceptively casual tone. "We were just leaving."

"Yeah, looked like it," she replied, her tone dry, but she stepped out of the way as they filed past. Sam gave her an uncomfortable smile and a nod, but didn't say a word as he moved by her. She rolled her eyes and as he stepped out into the hallway, the door shut loudly behind them.

"Okay, you're right. She hates you," Ramos laughed as he turned towards the stairwell.

"Shut up," Sam mumbled as he fell in step behind, his heart still thudding against his ribs as he considered his next move.

* * *

><p><strong>5:53 PM<strong>

Weston slouched down in the driver's seat as he saw the doors to the building swing open. He'd gotten to the building just in time to see Swarek disappear inside, and had made three loops around the block before he finally felt secure enough to pull into an empty spot across the street and halfway up the block. He'd been waiting ever since, thinking about the phone call he'd overheard. Sarah was the sister he'd found evidence of, and Swarek's tone hadn't been different than any of the times he'd heard him speak in the past, alternately hard and soft. The thing that had thrown up a red flag was the heavy vein of reluctant vulnerability coursing through the conversation. There was more at stake than some damn picture, that was obvious.

Weston's hat was pulled down low over his face, and he hadn't shaved in days, mostly out of laziness, but also because he'd noticed that when he let the beard come in, he didn't get nearly as many suspicious looks. Sort of a built in disguise. Still, he wasn't going to just sit up and let Swarek catch sight of him.

There was a woman coming out of the building now, wearing a dark suit; the handle of an expensive-looking briefcase was clenched in her fingers, and it swung against her thigh. It took him two blinks to recognize her as a lawyer, and another to dismiss her as a pair of dark-haired men walked through the glass doors and out onto the sidewalk.

Swarek was talking over his shoulder to the guy next to him, a Hispanic man, somewhere in his mid-thirties. The two exchanged grins and a hand shake and then Swarek jogged away, headed towards the cop car parked on the corner. But Weston kept his eyes on the other man. He'd turned the opposite direction and was now walking quickly towards the parking ramp, a jacket and a bundle of paperwork under his arm. After shooting a quick look into his rearview, watching Swarek climb into his car and drive away, Weston turned the key in the ignition, but let the vehicle idle. After another minute or two, he saw an old Jeep Cherokee pull out of the ramp, the mystery man behind the wheel. He took a left, and Weston eased his car out into traffic and fell in line, two cars behind him.

* * *

><p><strong>6:23 PM<strong>

Sam glanced up at the clock on the wall and tapped his thumb against his thigh as he waited. He'd battled traffic for a bit, but had come straight to 15 and to Best's office after leaving Ramos. He'd actually passed right by Shaw and Green as they walked out towards the parking lot towards their cars, but he'd given them nothing more than a cursory nod as he continued through the squad room. Frank had been sitting behind his desk with the phone glued to his ear, but had waved him in anyway. In the five minutes since then, Sam had heard far more about budgeting concerns than he ever cared to. He ran a hand through his hair impatiently, looking once more towards the clock.

While Frank finished up his phone call, Sam was running the numbers, working up a tentative plan in his head. "_S/12_" was a clear reference to their phone calls during his undercover assignment. Something only the two of them would know about. Sunday at midnight.

He'd only caught a glimpse of the park's hours, but he was willing to bet it wasn't open that late. Unless Andy was planning on trespassing on government property in the middle of the night, that only left 12 – noon, and that shortened his timetable by another twelve hours. Sunday was four days away, which meant that he had to hurry. There were an almost impossible number of things to do before he could leave, a lot to take care of, to set up.

"Sam?" His head jerked up as Best spoke. "You needed something?"

"Yeah," Sam began hoarsely, then he cleared his throat as he leaned back in his chair, palms flat against his thighs. "Here's the thing..."

Frank wasn't looking at him. He'd stood up behind his desk, and was bent over slightly, stacking papers together and shoving them firmly into accordion and manila file folders, but when Sam spoke, he glanced up.

"I'm gonna need some time off."

Frank raised his eyebrows, but then ducked his head again and went back to his filing. After a few beats, he gave a quick shrug and a short nod.

"Sure, Swarek. Take a few days."

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Actually, sir, I was thinking I might need a little more than a few days."

Frank's hands slowed and he tipped his head up, eyeing Sam carefully as he straightened.

"How _many_ more?"

Sam kept his face neutral.

"Well, Sarah wants to finish the renovations up by the end of summer, and she's having some trouble with the guys she's got doing the job. She asked me to come down and supervise until it's finished up. She's been bugging me about it for a while, actually."

"How long, Sam?" Frank asked slowly.

Out of habit, Sam's hand came up to scratch at the back of his head.

"I don't know, Frank. A couple of months?"

"A couple of—" Frank put both hands down flat against the top of his desk and shook his head, eyebrows up. "No. No way."

"Frank…"

"I have a roster to fill here, Swarek. What am I supposed to do? I can stretch staff for a few days, but not two months."

"I have vacation coming."

"Not that much. Look," Best said, his voice growing more authoritative with every passing second, "I can't rearrange everyone's schedules just because your sister hired the wrong guys."

"Then I'll take leave," Sam argued loudly as he hooked a thumb over his shoulder, towards the window. "You've got a room full of guys out here looking for overtime. No one's gonna care. You won't even notice I'm gone."

Frank sat heavily in his chair, the seat rocking a little as he leaned back and stared at Sam.

"Come on, Sam. It's me you're talking to. We've known each other a long time."

"So?" Sam asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

"So," Best continued. "What's this _really_ about?"

Sam rolled his eyes and bent forward at the waist, doing his best to look simply annoyed and not like he was about to jump out of his skin at the slightest provocation.

"You were the one that suggested I take some time off."

"Yeah. Months ago. But you're back. Curtis cleared you. Are you saying she made a mistake?" Best asked in a voice tinged with accusation.

"No." Sam got his elbows down on his knees and his hands out in front of him, moving them as he talked. "But she did say I should take some time. Think about my options."

"What the hell does _that_ mean?" Frank asked, letting each word drop from his lips with a hint of warning.

Sam looked at him, trying to decide just how far to take it. He'd known Best for a long time, but that went both ways; somedays Frank could read him like a book. In the end, he decided to go for broke; he had no time for arguments. "Look, Frank. I never take vacation. I never call in sick. So you can either give me a couple of months, or I can fill out a transfer request right now."

A few seconds of silence ticked by before Frank spat out, "You're bluffing." There was no doubt, no concern at all in his voice.

And he was right. But Sam was good at bluffing.

He leaned back in his chair, a long lazy stretch, and crossed his legs, balancing his ankle on his knee. He laced his fingers behind his head, and with a challenge gleaming in his eyes and confident grin on his face, he said, "Try me."

Best watched him for a moment, maybe twenty seconds total. And then he shook his head and yanked his bottom desk drawer open. He laid a form down on the desk top and snatched a pen from the holder. Sam watched as he filled in the top few lines.

"Badge number?" Best barked. Sam gave it to him. "When did you want to start your leave?"

"Ah, tomorrow, if possible."

Frank shot an incredulous look at him and then dropped the pen onto the desk. "Not a chance."

"C'mon Frank. Sarah - "

"No. You don't come in here and drop this bomb on me. Give me a week," Best replied. "One week to file the paperwork and work it out with HR, to revise the schedule, re-partner Green."

"I need a break, Frank," Sam replied seriously. "As soon as possible." Frank met his eyes in a direct stare but Sam didn't blink. "Look, I don't think she's doing that great, okay? I'm worried about her." It was an outright lie and Sam felt bad about it, using his sister and whatever issues she still had about her past to further his own agenda. But it did the job. Frank's face softened a little, and his eyebrows drew together in concern.

"Look, Sam," he began, his voice a little more gentle than it had been. "I like your sister, but I've got a job to do. You want time off, we've got to do this my way. Otherwise, you _can_ fill out that transfer form."

Sam stared at him, and realized with a start that Best _wasn't_ bluffing. Not even a little bit. Part of him wanted to just do it. Just walk out of the office and out of 15 and not look back. But another week would give him more time to plan, more time to put things in place, to pack. If his last day was next Tuesday and he left right after shift, that would give him more of a cushion; seven days to plan, five days to travel.

Frank raised his eyebrows in question and Sam exhaled.

"Fine. A week."

"Good," Best said, his demeanor quickly returning to normal as he started scribbling again on the paper. "And I'm only giving you thirty days. You need longer than that, you come back and we'll discuss it."

"Yeah, sure," Sam said, his brain already onto the next phase. After a month of being out west, he'd need to reassess anyway. He just needed to see Andy, and then they could make those decisions together.

* * *

><p><strong>Around 8:00 PM<strong>

After finishing with Best, Sam let himself into his dark house. He let his bag fall from his shoulder and it hit the hardwood floor with a dry thud that echoed through the empty living room. His shoes came off, and he carried a sack from Andy's favorite Thai place over to the sofa. He sank down, dug out a container of the peanut noodles and put his feet up on the coffee table as he flipped on the television. Before the news was over, he was halfway through that box, and digging into a second.

The pictures passing across the screen were the same they always showed: car accidents, various crime scenes laden with spectators and yellow tape, the occasional human interest story. But the television was just on to provide some movement and light. Sam skimmed the captions below the pictures, but the volume was off so he could concentrate on the matter at hand.

Now that he was home, and things were quiet, and his belly was full, he was thinking a little more clearly. Whether or not he'd ever admit it out loud, he did need that extra week. Four days wouldn't have been enough time to prepare, to plan, to pack. He needed money, he needed transportation, and he needed new identification. He had no doubt in his mind that Stone and the RCMP had flagged his file. Maybe he wasn't a priority, but if he was listed on a passenger manifest for any flight leaving Toronto, he was sure there'd be questions. Likewise, if he happened to get picked up for speeding halfway across the country.

Sam set down the second container of food and leaned his head back against the couch. His eyes fell closed as he folded his arms across his chest and started going over it in his head, slowly this time, laying it all out.

So now he had twelve days. Twelve days to turn the world he'd cobbled together completely upside down and trade it for the hope of another. Twelve days.

He just hoped she'd still be waiting for him when he got there.

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, June 24 (Evening)<strong>

Andy tapped on Rebecca's door with her knuckle and then slid her hands into the pockets of her shorts. Any other time, she might have just walked in, but it'd been nearly a week since the ball game; a week since she'd talked to Riley. Though they'd both been polite, things hadn't felt settled between them, and she and Rebecca hadn't really spoken since. For whatever reason, there just hadn't been an opportunity. One night that week, Andy had to stay late to help train a new cashier, the next two nights Rebecca must have been busy because the house had been dark and locked up tight.

After waiting for a minute, she turned around and stepped off the stoop, scuffing her flip flops a little against the pavement as she walked away from the house.

"Abby, wait!"

Andy spun around and looked first at the door which hadn't moved, and then her eyes scanned the periphery; they moved around the edges of the house and then up to the window on the second floor. She finally spotted Rebecca standing behind the screen waving her in.

"Come on in. I'm just getting the girls into bed." Then she slid the window shut and disappeared into the shadows.

Andy let herself into the house and closed her eyes gratefully as a wave of cool air hit her. For the last week, the weather had been stiflingly hot with tiny bursts of rain scattered sporadically throughout each day, but instead of giving relief, it only added to the humidity. Goosebumps rose on along her bare thighs and arms as she walked through the house and met Rebecca at the foot of the stairs.

"Hey!" she said, all smiles as she looped her arm through Andy's and towed her into the kitchen. "I need a drink." Rebecca opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses, pressing one into Andy's hand before taking a healthy swig of her own. "God, I love them, but they wear me out."

Andy took a small sip and wrapped her free arm around her middle. "Yeah, you guys must have been busy this week. I uh. . . I came over the other day and you were gone."

Rebecca nodded and leaned back against the counter. "Yeah, we had someone call in sick at work, so I was covering their overnights. AJ and Maddie have been at my mom's." She arched her eyebrows at Andy. "Is something going on? Are you alright?"

"No. I mean, yeah," Andy corrected, shaking her head slightly. "Yeah, I'm great. I just. . . ." She swept a hand over her hair, and pushed some behind her ear. "I guess I just wanted to make sure that everything was okay here. Between us, I mean."

Rebecca continued to look at her curiously. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Um . . . Because of Riley?" Andy offered.

Rebecca rolled her eyes and crossed the room. She gave her a little nudge to herd her towards the back of the house. "It's not an issue, Abby. Let's sit outside for a while." She swung the back door open and tipped her head towards it and gestured for Andy to step through to the back steps. The two of them sank down on the top one and sipped at their wine.

"So, ah, he told you everything then?" she ventured carefully.

"Why? Do _you_ want to tell me about it?" Rebecca asked with a smirk.

"Not even a little bit," Andy replied.

"I didn't think so." Rebecca took another drink. "He told me all the important stuff I think. Plus, it's not technically my business, so. . . ."

Andy gave her a reproachful look. "I think we both know that it is."

Rebecca closed her eyes for a second and shook her head, like she was shaking off the entire conversation. When she re-opened them, she curled her toes around the edge of the step and then looked over. "We were talking the other day about heading into the city in a few weeks for this concert. Riley said that he could get us tickets, if you want to go?"

Andy shot her a look of amusement and then shook her head. "Concerts aren't really my thing," she said dismissively. Whether it was total denial, or complete obliviousness, it was humorous, and she was having a hard time keeping a straight face. "You two should probably go alone."

"If you're sure," Rebecca said glancing at her for confirmation. At Andy's encouraging smile, she nodded and looked away. "I think AJ's with her dad that weekend, but I'm not sure about Maddie." She was pretty much talking to herself at this point, laying it out audibly so she could process it all.

"I'll watch her," Andy suggested, laughing when Rebecca's eyebrows show up a mile. "What? I've watched them before."

"Yeah, for like an hour if I had to run to the store."

"Trust me. We'll be fine," Andy assured her with a smile. "In fact, you two should take the whole day. Maddie and I will. . . . Well, we'll figure something out." Although in that moment, she really had no idea how to keep a three-year-old happy for twelve hours.

Rebecca considered it, her nails tapping against her wine glass. "Okay. Yeah, you'll be fine," she echoed, sounding like she was trying to convince herself more than anything. "Oh, wait." She looked over. "Riley said you were expecting Sam sometime soon. Are you sure you two won't be busy?"

Andy raised her eyebrows and then brought her wine glass up to her lips. After she swallowed a mouthful, she set it down on the concrete, watching it wobble for a second. "I wouldn't worry too much about that," she said quietly. She felt Rebecca's eyes on her and tucked an errant strand of hair back behind her ear.

"Did you two have a fight or something?"

"No," Andy said, almost a laugh. "I just don't actually know if he's gonna come," she admitted reluctantly. It was a far cry from the surety she'd felt only a few days before, but after another Sunday spent on the road, she wasn't feeling very optimistic.

Rebecca frowned, a crease marring the smooth skin of her forehead. "You invited him, didn't you?"

Andy nodded again and lifted her head, focusing her eyes on the shed at the back of the yard as she swallowed down the lump in her throat. "A while ago," she replied.

"Oh," Rebecca murmured and drained her glass. She set it down next to Andy's and for a second they just sat there.

Andy rubbed her hands over her bare arms as a weird chill crept up on her. The shadows were growing longer across the yard, but the sun was still above the horizon, gilding every surface it touched. Not quite time for insects. Not quiet time for things that went bump in the night. But she only had another hour or so of daylight. Only another hour to get back to her house, let Brody out to run, and make a quick sweep of the woods.

"Well, do you have any big plans for when he _does_ show?" Rebecca asked, giving her a sharp elbow in the side.

Andy winced and elbowed her back. "I had a few ideas. Nothing concrete." She took a deep breath and then folded her forearms atop her knees and looked over. "You know, maybe I was too subtle about it. Maybe I should have just said, 'Hey. I want you to come see me.'"

"You haven't said that?" Rebecca asked with a laugh.

"Well, I mean, I didn't sky-write it or anything, but I hinted. A very strong hint," Andy repeated widening her eyes for emphasis. "I guess I thought he'd figure it out."

Rebecca raised her eyebrows as she considered it. "I guess some guys _do_ need it spelled out for them." She looked over and met Andy's eyes. "Is he usually like that?"

Andy inhaled and pillowed her head on her arms. Then she shook her head. "No. He's always been pretty good at reading me. Really . . . intuitive, you know?"

Rebecca nodded, and a flicker of a smile passed across her face. "Yeah, I know." She tucked her hands between her knees as a light breeze sent the leaves above them rustling. "Maybe you should just try again."

Andy shrugged. "Everyone else thinks I should just get over it."

"Who's everyone else?" Rebecca asked, her eyebrows drawing together.

Andy shrugged and straightened up, stretching her back a little. "My dad," she said, suddenly feeling guilty about how long it'd been since she'd seen him. "My cousin Jill, definitely. Riley. And _you_ actually," she added, shooting Rebecca an accusing look.

Rebecca grinned. "Well, considering my track record, I wouldn't say I'm the best judge of relationships. You should know that by now."

Andy gave her an appraising once over. "You're not _that_ hopeless."

"Thanks," Rebecca replied sarcastically. "But seriously, you had no problem telling me to back off when I was pushing you towards Riley."

"Well, I've been telling everyone else the same thing, but what if…" Andy sucked in a deep breath and combed her fingers through her hair, hardly able to believe that she was even thinking it. "What if I wait and wait and he just never shows?"

For a minute, neither of them said anything. Andy leaned down and retrieved her glass, tossing back the last of her wine. As she swallowed, the wind picked up a bit causing her hair to brush at her bare shoulder and she shivered a little. She glanced over at Rebecca, about to suggest that they both head in for the night, but again Rebecca's face was screwed into a frown. After a second, she took a breath and looked at Andy, like she was about to say something. When Andy raised her eyebrows questioningly, Rebecca blew out a breath and shook her head, a muttered "Never mind" breaking the silence.

"What?" Andy asked.

But Rebecca shook her head. "Nothing," she replied, reaching down around her knees to pick at a few blades of grass growing up through a crack in the sidewalk.

Andy sat up a little straighter and her eyes narrowed slightly. "You obviously have something to say, so just spit it out," she ordered with a little bite to her voice.

Rebecca closed her eyes for a few seconds as she took a deep breath, and then she turned to look at Andy, a cautious expression on her face.

"Look, Abby. Riley and I, and your dad? We just worry about you. Probably Jill too, even though she seems like a bitch to me," she added under her breath with a roll of her eyes. Andy couldn't help her answering smirk. "Anyway, we just want you to be happy. And you, sitting here by yourself waiting for him? That's not happy."

Andy just blinked. Any other time, she would have been opening up her mental database of excuses, of reasons why Sam couldn't be there, a way to logically explain away his absence. But this time, just hours after a sixth pointless trip to Shannon Falls, she couldn't even muster up a strong denial. All of the arguments that she'd used previously seemed empty, carrying a fraction of the impact they'd originally borne. And Rebecca was right. Out of the dozens of emotions she'd gone through while living in Willow Bend, the number of times she'd actually felt_ happy_ could be counted on one hand. Up until now, she'd just assumed, no… _insisted_ that when she saw Sam again, she'd be happy; that he was the key to it all. But maybe it was time to consider that if that wasn't going to happen, if that _couldn't_ happen, that the only way she'd ever be truly happy was to start living the life she was supposed to have been living these last six months. To start moving on.

The mere thought of it brought wetness to her eyes and she blinked a few times. She sniffed loudly, and turned her head away, telling herself that Rebecca wasn't watching as she used the heel of her hand to rub at the lone tear that had slipped down over her cheek. When she turned back, her friend was politely averting her eyes, but after a second or two, she reached over and slipped her hand into Andy's and gave it a squeeze.

"Maybe give him a little longer," she suggested quietly, giving Andy a small smile.

Andy took a deep breath and nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah, maybe."

Andy looked up at the sky. Stars were beginning to come out, tiny pin pricks of light that seemed to multiply every minute or so. The flood light over their heads was starting to attract moths and other insects. They buzzed around under the bulb with the slightest sound of velvety wings beating against the air. Next to her, Rebecca retracted her hand and, quick as lightning, slapped at a mosquito.

"We should head in," she said. "We're going to get eaten alive."

Andy pushed herself to her feet, held a hand out for Rebecca and towed her up. The blonde bent down and picked up their empty glasses and started up the steps.

"Actually," Andy said as she hung back, looking first at the sun sinking below the mountains far off in the distance and then at her watch. "It's getting kind of late. I should probably get home and take care of Brody."

Rebecca nodded. "Sure. You want to do dinner tomorrow?"

"Yeah." Andy shot her a quick smile as she took a step backwards. "Oh, and before I forget. Promise me something," she requested, a little gleam in her eye.

"What's that?" Rebecca asked, getting her free hand around the handle to the screen door.

Andy gave her a sly look. "Promise me you'll wear something nice."

She shot her a puzzled look. "For dinner tomorrow?"

"For your date with Riley."

Rebecca fumbled a bit, and lost her grip on the wine glasses; one of them crashed to the cement at her feet. She stared at Andy, her eyes as wide as saucers.

"It's not a date."

Andy grinned, enjoying the sudden panic in Rebecca's eyes. "If you say so." She stuck her hands in her back pockets and spun toward the sidewalk that wound around the house.

"Abby," Rebecca called quietly right before she disappeared from sight. "No one said anything about a date," she hissed.

The only answer she received was a laugh echoing back through the growing darkness.

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday, June 26 <strong>

The week between the two Tuesdays stretched out until each day felt longer than the last, and each step preparing for his trip seemed like it led to another. He'd had to secure enough cash to last him a month, a few fake IDs, and a ticket to a place halfway across the country, but all of that had to be done without leaving a trail, and it all had to be done quickly. The rest was just a waiting game.

Even now as he finished up his last report, he was glancing at the clock, watching for the long hand to travel those last few minutes until the end of shift. He hadn't slept a wink the night before; not even a catnap in the early hours of the morning. But he was alert, his brain and reflexes were sharp, and he was ready to leave. It had taken him all of an hour to stuff a bag full with a few weeks' worth of clothes, his shaving kit and toothbrush, and then maybe another hour to close up the house, to turn off all the lights, unplug what needed unplugging, lock all the doors and windows, and pull the blinds. Instead of tiring him out, the work had only fired him up.

Finally the minutes ticked down and he was making his way back to the locker room to change when he was intercepted by Green. She'd been working the past few days with Peck which appeared to be a match made in hell for both of them. When she fell into step next to him, she exhaled loudly, rolling her head around to work the kinks out of her neck.

"Feel like a drink?" she asked, an obvious edge to her tone.

"Can't," Sam replied simply.

"Oh yeah? What else have you got going on?" she asked with a laugh.

Sam shook his head. "Nothing. Just thought I'd get on the road."

Green nodded. "Right. Your sister's, huh?"

"Yep." He stopped outside the men's locker room and stepped aside as someone exited. "But I should. . . ." He gestured towards the door.

"Yeah. Of course." She took a step back, but there was a frown on her face. He'd just gotten the heel of his hand against the door when she stopped him again. "Look, you _are_ going to your sister's right? I mean, you aren't. . ." She narrowed her eyes into an almost comical expression and gave her head a shake. "Forget it."

"What?" he asked, curiosity piqued.

"Nothing. Don't tell me. I don't want to know."

Sam said nothing, but watched her as she swept a hand over her perfectly tied back hair, smoothing it back. It was an unconscious move, something she did when her brain was working in overdrive. She took a step back as yet another officer exited the locker room and walked between them. She hooked her thumbs into her belt loops and backed off a little more, shaking her head as she turned on her heel.

She wasn't more than five feet away when she stopped and spun around again, fixing him with a stare. "Just promise me that whatever it is, you'll be careful, okay?"

Sam hesitated for a second or two, but in the end, he bobbed his head in a nod and when she walked away, he pushed open the door and finally entered the locker room.

* * *

><p>He had one last stop to make before he could leave. It was something he should have done earlier, something he could have done at any point in the last couple of days, but he'd been putting it off. He pulled his truck up into the Shaws' driveway, right next to Oliver's car and took his time getting out and making his way up to the front step. He hit the bell, not letting his thumb linger for more than a moment and then backed away a step or two, waiting.<p>

It didn't take long. He could hear movement inside, could hear a whisper of sound through the door, and then it was jerked open, startling him, though he was expecting it.

"Sam Swarek," Zoe Shaw greeted him, smiling in surprise when she swung the door open. "It's been a while since you've darkened our doorstep."

Sam felt himself responding to the teasing gleam in her eye, and a slow grin worked its way across his face. "Yeah, I've been hibernating I guess. Is Oliver around?"

She nodded and stepped aside, opening the door a little wider. "Yeah. Come on in and I'll get him for you."

He watched as she left the entry way and then he gave the room a quick once over. Apparently some things didn't change. Amidst the upheaval at the station, in his own life, the Shaw's house had managed to stay the same. He glanced in at the living room and saw it was no different, save a few new pictures of the girls mounted above the mantle and a couple of throw pillows Sam didn't remember from the last time he'd stopped by. And like usual, the air in the house was permeated with the warm, comforting smell of food and was echoing with the sounds of a family moving around and talking over each other.

"Sammy?" Sam swung around to face Oliver as he came around the corner, wiping his hands and face on a napkin. Zoe was close on his heels. "What's up, buddy?" he asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

Sam shot a quick look from Zoe to Oliver and then stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Ah, well. I'm just headed out of town . . . ."

"Right." Oliver nodded and then hooked his thumb over his shoulder. "You wanna stay? We all just sat down for dinner."

Sam shook his head. "Better not. Sarah's expecting me."

Oliver didn't say anything, just passed the napkin over his mouth one more time as he kept a watchful eye on his friend.

Zoe glanced from her husband to Sam and took a step forward. "Maybe I could fix you a plate to take with you."

Sam almost turned her down, but the smell of chicken was making him acutely aware of his empty stomach. "That'd be great," he conceded with a grateful smile.

She walked from the room, leaving the two men alone. Oliver leaned a hip against the banister and looked at Sam.

"So?" he asked with a friendly smile, waiting for him to speak.

Sam blew out a heavy breath and ran a hand up the back of his head, ruffling his hair. He hadn't exactly been practicing a speech for this moment, but at the same time, he hadn't been able to leave town without stopping to see his friend. Not when he wasn't really sure when he'd be back. But he couldn't get the words to come out.

"I guess. . . I was wondering if you could keep an eye on my house," he said instead, giving Oliver a sheepish grin. "You've still got a key right?"

A wide smile spread across Shaw's face and he folded his arms. "Ah, I do, but you're only gonna be a few hours away. And I know you and Sarah. You'll be back in a week," he said, clapping a hand on Sam's shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze.

Sam pushed out a short laugh and shifted his gaze away from Oliver's face. "Yeah maybe," he said quietly. "Anyway, I'd better get on the road." He turned away, moving toward the door.

"Unless you're not going to your sister's," Oliver said after a brief hesitation, his voice ringing out a little too loudly in the hallway; the sound bounced along the gold-toned brick and the hardwood floors and stopped Sam in his tracks. Very slowly he turned around to face Shaw. Oliver's hands were resting on his hips as he stared at Sam.

"Actually, I _am_ going to Sarah's," Sam started, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

But Shaw just waved a hand at him and shook his head. "Remember a few weeks ago when we were running that speed trap?" He didn't pause for an answer. "Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure I remember you telling me that day that the renovations on Sarah's store were finished." He shifted his weight a little, moving closer. "Which means you lied to Best."

"What's your point, Shaw?" Sam asked sharply, a warning in his tone.

"I think you know where I'm headed with this." Oliver tilted his head a little, watching him intently. Somewhere in the rear of the house, either in the kitchen or the dining room, something fell to the floor with a crash. The noise was followed by a peal of giggles from the three Shaw girls and the tense moment out in the entry way was lessened, but only a touch. Oliver took another step and lowered his voice. "Sam, do you even know where you're going?"

For a second, Sam thought about denying the whole thing; about insisting that Sarah really did need his help; that she had some unsolvable problem that only he could fix, but in the end he just gave a short nod.

"I think so."

"You think . . . ." Oliver broke off and widened his eyes. "You realize you could lose your job over this? I mean, that's what they told you, right? When they took her away?"

"I was there," Sam snapped. "I remember." Oliver just kept on staring. "I'm going anyway."

"Sam . . . ." Oliver was shaking his head as he looked at his feet. "After everything you've been through –"

"No," Sam said abruptly. His friend's head shot up and Sam continued. "I can't stay here. Not when she's –" He broke off, and his breath hissed out as he shook his head. Then he looked back at Shaw. "I can't stay. So, are you gonnna watch my house or not?"

Oliver watched him for a moment, saw the tight set of his jaw, and then gave a slow nod. "Okay."

"Okay," Sam repeated. The two of them stood together next to the stairs, and Sam glanced down at his watch. "Listen, I actually_ am_ stopping at Sarah's and I'm gonna be late, so I should…" He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, towards the door, and took a moseying step backwards.

"Hold on a second," Oliver said and made his way around the banister to the stairs. He was halfway down to the basement before he called back over his shoulder. "Be right back."

Sam took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair, ready for the quiet solitude of his truck. Before Shaw made it back though, Zoe returned with his food.

"Here you go. Hope you like dark meat. The girl's won't touch it."

"It's great, really," Sam said, taking the hot, wrapped plate from her and holding it carefully between his hands.

Her eyes were soft and sweet as she smiled at him. "It really is good to see you again, Sam. Oliver was pretty worried about you for a while there."

Sam winced but tried to return her smile. "I've had sort of a rough year, I guess."

"But things are better?" she asked, honestly concerned.

This time, the smile came easier. "Yeah, you could say that."

"Say what?" Oliver asked as he pounded up the stairs, a box tucked under his arm.

Zoe gestured towards Sam. "He was just telling me that things are turning around for him."

Oliver raised an eyebrow at Sam. "Yeah, he was just telling me the same thing." He glanced over his shoulder. "Zo, I think Izzy's calling you."

She gave Sam an exasperated look. "You want to adopt a moody teenager?" But she didn't wait for a response; she just headed out of the room.

The two men watched her go and then Oliver stepped forward and shoved the box into Sam's arms. He scrambled for a second, balancing both it and the plate. Only then did he see his name scrawled in faded ink across the box top and his eyes lifted to Shaw's.

Oliver shrugged. "Probably time for you to have it back." Sam just looked down at it wedged against his hip and then back up at his friend. "Zoe was complaining that we have too much stuff in the back room anyway. Time to clean it out."

It felt different to hold it this time. Andy's box was lighter than he remembered, but even more so was his heart. The last time he'd plunged his hands into it, he'd been broken, shattered. He hadn't wanted to look inside, he hadn't wanted to pull out her belongings, to sift through them, to remember her. Now he wished he had an extra hour to just sit somewhere and take them out one by one, turning each one over in his hands. But the minutes were ticking by.

Sam looked back at Oliver and gave him a real smile. "Thanks for holding onto it."

Oliver gave his shoulder another squeeze and they both turned towards the door. "No point in throwing it out, right?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, his voice rough.

"So, how long are you going to be gone?" Shaw asked quietly as he walked him to the door.

Sam gave him a one-shouldered shrug. "I took a month off. Haven't really thought much past that." He got his hand around the knob, pulled the door open, then paused, turning his head towards his friend before he stepped out into the night. "Can you do me a favor and check in on Sarah while I'm gone? Just call her once a week or something? She won't be able to get ahold of me if she needs something."

Shaw nodded, murmuring a promise to take care of her, but as Sam took a step, as he took his first breath of night air, Shaw put a hand on his shoulder.

"Listen, Sam…"

"Yeah?" He raised his eyebrows at Oliver.

Shaw didn't speak right away, but as Sam shifted the box on his hip, turning a quarter-turn to look at him without craning his neck, he just shrugged and gave him a small smile. "Just tell her I said hi, okay?"

Sam exhaled heavily and gave him a tight smile and a nod. And then he stepped off the stoop and into the night, swinging the door closed behind him.

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday, June 26 – 10:04 PM<strong>

"Are you sure you've got everything?" Sarah asked as she turned the key in the ignition. She waited for his word of assent before throwing the car into gear and pulling away from the curb, leaving her store with its massive wrap-around porch in the rearview.

"You've got my keys, right?" he asked, giving his pockets a pat, double-checking his wallet and papers were intact. He checked his watch, wishing that she'd lay on the gas a little.

She nodded, keeping her eyes ahead of her as she made the first turn off her road. "I do, but I still don't know why you think I should hold onto your truck. You're only going to be gone a month, right?"

He looked out the window. "That's how much time Best gave me."

"Well, the witness can't be that hard to find, right? I mean, they wouldn't be sending you if they didn't think you'd find him."

He nodded distractedly, stuffing down the guilt. "Yeah, you're right."

"So, you could have left the truck in your garage," she added, giving him a quick admonishing glance.

He shook his head. "I wanted you to have it 'til I get back, just in case."

"In case of what? My car is fine."

He barked out a laugh and scanned the inside of her ancient Mazda 323. It needed new coil springs, the seatbelts barely retracted, and he had a sneaking suspicion that if he kicked aside the floor mats, he'd be able to see patches of road through the floor; to say nothing of the condition of the engine or the paint job. "Sarah, your car's a piece of shit. You're gonna end up stranded on the highway."

"You've been saying that for years," she muttered. "Still works."

"And what if you need to haul something? Every time I'm down here, I end up moving furniture or lumber or something else."

"Maybe I just save it up for when you come down." But she was shaking her head and when the car crept to a stop at the next stop light, she turned to look at him. "Sam…"

"No. Just keep it, Sarah."

"But _why_?"

"Because it'll make me feel better, okay?" he said loudly, holding her eyes until the driver behind them began laying on his horn. Sarah hit the gas, shifting quickly through the gears until they were traveling along at a moderate speed.

"Well, I _was_ thinking I might replace the gutters," she offered tentatively after another minute, tossing a quick look his way. "I guess the truck would make it easier."

"Fine." He took another look at his watch.

A few minutes of silence passed before Sarah pulled onto the highway. She accelerated, and Sam settled in for the ride, reaching over to flip on the radio, but as soon as he cranked it up, she turned it down and looked over at him.

"Can I ask you a stupid question?" Sam shrugged, but didn't say anything. "If this is for work, why aren't they just flying you?" He rolled his eyes. "It just seems like it would be a lot faster," she explained.

"I don't have to be there until Sunday," he explained for the fourth time.

"And what kind of job plans meetings for Sundays anyway?" she added. "Wouldn't it make more sense to meet your contact or whoever on a Monday?" He let her chatter away for a minute or so, talking herself in circles about the whole issue until she said, "Oh, wait, I know why you're not flying," and gave him a rare grin, complete with dimples. He shot her a dirty look. "I forgot about your phobia."

"It's not a phobia," he snapped, earning a giggle.

"Sure."

"It's not."

She was still smiling, though doing her best to subdue it. The corner of her mouth was dipping like she couldn't control her facial muscles and Sam thought he saw her shoulders shake just the tiniest amount. He gave his head an exasperated shake and turned back to the window. His nerves were totally ragged. Between the week of planning and the anxiety concerning the trip and the added stress of dealing with his sister, it was all he could do to just keep control of his emotions.

Originally, he _had_ planned on flying. He wouldn't have loved it; in fact, it may have required a small sedative to actually get him buckled into the seat. But he would have done it. If there hadn't been the small matter of identification.

For a few days, he'd argued with himself about the best way to procure fake IDs. He knew that all it would have taken was to snatch some UC identification forms from Boyd's filing cabinet, maybe sweet-talk the girl at the DMV to put a rush on it. But usable ID's had to be connected to a record, fabricated or legit, and he didn't think that falsifying police documents was exactly the best route to take. Instead, he'd hunted down one of his old snitches, a guy who had once been picked up on the University campus for producing realistic-looking fakes. Somehow, connecting with an old criminal contact had seemed preferable to risking dismissal or forgery charges.

However, given the time constraints, and the money he was willing to shell out, he wasn't going to take any chances getting picked up at the airport by security for trying to fly with a shoddy fake photo ID. The train was slow, unbelievably slow, but it allowed for changes in course, for variations in the plan. Also, you could pay cash for your ticket, and as long as the name on the ID matched the one on the ticket, they weren't going to look too closely at the rest.

He'd also planned on leaving from Toronto, but after careful thought, he realized that a little more anonymity was worth some extra time on the train. But there was another reason as well. After talking with the shrink, he'd wanted to see Sarah once more before he left.

Sam looked over at her. Though it was summer, she had on a chunky brown sweater with flat, golf ball-sized buttons running up the front and her hair was thrown up into a curly, sloppy knot; two pencils were shoved through it like chopsticks to hold it all in place. She had a pair of black, plastic-framed glasses with rectangular lenses shoved up onto the bridge of her nose and she smelled familiar, like old books and ink and cedar shelves. He inhaled deeply and when he looked away, he smiled.

She drove another few minutes and then eased off the highway onto a cross street. The remaining distance took only minutes, and soon, they were pulling into a small lot attached to a long brick train depot, floodlights brightening every corner of the property.

He'd only been crammed into the passenger seat for a quarter of an hour or so, but when he climbed out, he felt the stretch as he straightened his legs. In the lot, other people were unloading cars, talking with family and friends, buzzing with excitement. The feeling was palpable, and for a second, Sam had to remind himself that unlike them, he wasn't taking a vacation; this was serious business.

"You ready?" Sarah asked from the rear of the car where she was lifting the hatch. He nodded and joined her, hauling out the heavy duffel and letting it fall to the ground. She closed it again, and then they stood there, hands on hips, a meter apart, watching each other awkwardly.

The uncomfortable moment lasted three seconds too long, and then Sarah ran a hand up her neck, smoothed an invisible curl behind her ear and then took a step back.

"I should get going," she said, giving him a quick smile. She turned to go, hands lost in the voluminous sleeves of the sweater, and Sam moved forward.

"Sarah, wait." She spun around again, eyes wide in question. "What about that other thing?"

"Oh!" she said, eyebrows shooting up. "Right." She stuck her hand in the back pocket of her jeans and dug out a tiny yellow Post-It, folded in quarters. He took it from her and unfolded it enough to glance at the writing, then tucked it into his own pants pocket.

"Thanks," he replied, smiling when she nodded.

Sarah folded her arms and tilted her head, watching him carefully. "You gonna explain why you need that?"

"Nope." He shook his head regretfully, realizing that this was probably the hundredth lie he'd told her over the years. She had every right to the chill that was creeping into her stare. If it had been a normal situation, if he'd been going undercover again, he might have considered it. But this was too important.

Her jaw flexed, and she gave a single irritated nod. "Of course not," she said quietly.

She stared at him for a few seconds, eyes boring into his until he ducked his head, breaking the contact. "Listen, maybe when I get back…," he amended, wishing he _could_ tell her; it would be nice to tell _someone_ at any rate.

"Sure," Sarah agreed, sounding like she didn't believe a word coming out of his mouth. She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "Anyway, I guess I'll let you head over," she said, giving him a tight smile as she backed away towards her car. Sam watched her go, watched her lift her shoulder in a quick half-shrug and turn around, getting her hand around the door handle. He watched her fight with it a moment.

He still had serious doubts about whether they'd ever get through a conversation without snipping at each other, but in that moment, as he watched her struggle with the broken handle and finally swing the door wide, he realized he was worried about leaving her.

Sarah was an adult, capable of taking care of herself, but as he looked over his shoulder at the boarding area, an apprehension rose up inside him. For the last week, since he'd gotten Andy's message, all he'd thought was _GO. _He'd thought he'd had every reason to leave and no reason to stay, but that wasn't entirely true. Sarah was safe and she'd be looked after. She had Adam, her best friend and business partner, and if there was an emergency, she could call Shaw. But that didn't change the twisting in Sam's gut; the sudden anxiety he felt at the thought of putting such a great distance between them. He'd told her a month, but depending on what happened when he found Andy, it could very well end up being longer. It could be much longer, and so it didn't matter what he told himself. A lifetime of worry didn't just disappear when it was convenient.

But he had to go.

"Sarah," Sam said again, and then he waited until she reluctantly turned around before he stepped up and pulled her into his arms. Her body was rigid at first, stiff with surprise and probably with residual anger, but after a few seconds she was hugging him back, _hard_. Her small fists dug almost painfully into his ribs.

"You're acting like I'm never gonna see you again," she said with an uncomfortable laugh. She was joking, but there was something strangely serious about the way she said it, almost a hint of uncertainty.

He smiled, a quick press of the lips, and then he let go of her, shaking his head as he stepped back.

"I guess I just realized I was gonna miss you."

Sarah laughed. "Yeah, right." A third time, she turned to her car, and for the third time, Sam stopped her, this time with a hand on her shoulder.

"You know you can call Oliver and Zoe if you need anything, right?"

"Yep."

"And you'll take care of my truck?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. I'll watch out for your precious baby."

He hefted the duffel, letting the weight swing heavily from his shoulder as he backed away from her. "I'll try to call you if I get a chance."

"No you won't," she said with a laugh, and then solemnity worked its way into her expression. "I know that this isn't about your job, Sam. I'm not an idiot, so you can stop that bullshit now." She held up her hand when he fixed her with a look. "You don't want to tell me, fine. Don't tell me. But don't lie right to my face."

He hesitated a second but nodded. "Okay."

She narrowed her eyes at him, arms tucked across her chest. "So where are you going?"

Sam inhaled deeply through his nose. "I can't tell you, Sarah. It's the truth," he assured her quickly when she shook her head. "I literally can't tell you. Not now, maybe not ever. But it's not dangerous, and I _will_ be back. I promise."

She held his stare for a moment but finally nodded. "Okay," she replied and attempted a tired smile. "I guess I'll see you then." He didn't move, just kept watching her, watching her eyes glisten a little behind her glasses. "You're going to miss your train," she said with a sound that was half laugh, half cry and Sam reluctantly tossed a glance over his shoulder at the people starting to trickle into the depot as he took a shuffling step backwards. Sarah was already swinging into the car when he looked back at her, and she gave him a quick wave through the window, and then started up the Mazda. Sam cringed when he heard the sick sound of the engine and the squeak of her brakes. But he continued stepping back slowly, one foot after the other, waiting until her car was out of sight before rotating towards the building.

* * *

><p><strong>Saturday, June 30; 6:42 PM (MST)<strong>

Sam let out a deep sigh before reaching over to twist the volume knob and then hit the scan button on the radio of the 1991 Taurus wagon. Around him, night was quickly reaching the western part of Canada and after a long day, he was less than an hour from crossing the border from Alberta into British Columbia.

The car itself was nothing to write home about, very basic with crank windows and standard locks. He'd have guessed that the newish silver CD player had been installed sometime in the last ten years, but the paint was chipped off the corners and the symbols on the buttons were all but faded away. However, it did the job; it cut the quiet and, more importantly, it kept him from checking the clock.

Sam had spent a few days on the train, sleeping on and off for an hour at a time during the nights. During the light hours, he read a newspaper he'd found abandoned on one of the other seats and stared out the window. But the entire time, he was hardly comprehending a single paragraph, and just barely seeing the cities and scenery that rushed by. He'd switched trains in Winnipeg, buying a new ticket with one of his fake IDs. It had cost him a several hours, pacing up and down the halls of the station waiting for departure, casting a suspicious eye to anyone who turned in his direction. But with every twist of the plan, he'd somehow felt a little more relaxed, a little more anonymous, and a little more safe.

The train from Winnipeg had taken Sam further west to Edmonton where he'd hopped off and hailed a cab, giving the driver the address from Sarah's yellow post-it. The cab had dropped him at a used bookstore down on Jasper Avenue. Sam had hesitated for a microsecond, his heavy duffel slung over his shoulder, before pushing open the solid oak door. A set of bells mounted on the door jangled together as it moved on its hinges and then settled back into the frame, and the wooden floor creaked loudly under his feet as he made his way to the desk. The noises set his nerves on edge and raised the hairs on the back of his neck. But the store was cool, a welcome respite from the hot sun outside, and the lamps had been soft, glinting off the gilt-written titles on the spines of the more rare first editions behind the counter.

The place had smelled like furniture polish, leather, and ink, and for a moment, Sam had just inhaled and tried to not think. Not about Andy waiting for him in British Columbia, not about Sarah stocking shelves back in Ontario, and not about Shannon Falls – nearly within his grasp, but still just out of reach. Then he'd gotten his elbows up on the ledge and told the pretty girl behind the register that he'd like to see the owner.

She pointed him around the corner, through an open doorway and into a store room roughly the half the size of the shop itself. Like the shelves in the public space, everything in the back was meticulously organized; books were stacked neatly, spines lined up evenly, the table tops were mostly clear. Filing cabinets covered half of one of the short walls, and though it was storage, dust appeared to be merely an afterthought. Against the opposite wall was a large wooden table, loaded up with two computers with flat screen monitors and a large multi-function printer tucked into the corner. And sitting in front of one of the computers had been the woman he'd come to see.

Probably in her late fifties and barely a hair over 5'2", she'd stood and removed her reading glasses, letting them swing from a chain around her neck. Her name was Meredith, and she was a professional contact Sarah had made at the seminar she'd attended two months earlier. They'd exchanged conversation and contact information but hadn't had the time or the opportunity to do any actual business. Until now.

As he introduced himself as Sarah's friend and gave her an alias, he'd stuck out his hand and she'd grasped it, giving it a firm shake. If Sam had been expecting any sort of curiosity or interest, he would have been disappointed. She'd taken in the fake name and his disheveled appearance without a second glance, and then led him out the back door to a tiny, cramped parking lot with room enough for only half a dozen cars.

It would have been a simple solution to rent a car, but it was also a risky one. Rental companies required credit cards, and credit cards could be traced. It would have been a small matter to run a credit check and figure out that Sam Swarek was more than a thousand kilometers from where he was supposed to be. This was the next best solution.

When he'd first seen the powder blue Taurus wagon, his initial impulse had been to shake his head. Never in a million years would Sam have been caught dead in that thing back in Toronto. There was rust around the wheel wells, the rubber rimming the windows had eroded in chunks, and there was a large crack in the rear bumper that had never been repaired. He'd shot a single questioning glance at the seller, but she'd merely stared back at him with a no-nonsense smile and said, "As is. Tires are practically brand new."

"Brand new" was an exaggeration, but the price had been right, and she'd sworn up and down it would last him at least another thousand kilometers. And most importantly, Sam was desperate. He didn't have time to shop around.

So, he'd handed over the cash, sure to the tips of his toes that he was being taken for a ride; that he wouldn't even make it out of the city before he started shedding parts. But as he drove towards BC, he had to admit that he'd been wrong. The shocks and exhaust were well on their way to being shot, so it wasn't the smoothest, or quietest ride, but the engine was decent, and the lights and radio were functional.

On his way out of the city, he'd stopped in Spruce Grove at a Canadian Tire and picked up a cooler, a cheap pillow and a blanket. After one more stop at the grocery store for food and a few liters of bottled water, he was racing down the highway, headed west. The plan for the night was to find a campground or even a secluded street and just bunk down in the backseat. It wouldn't be comfortable, not by a long shot, but hopefully by the next night, he'd be sleeping in a bed with a warm brunette curled up against him.

The radio cut out for a second, and then again, and Sam made a face and reached over, hitting the presets one at a time until he found a station that came in. For a minute or two, he listened to Bob Dylan warble on almost tunelessly about a lost love with flowing hair, remembering in some small corner of his mind the whisper-quiet voice of his mother singing along with the radio while she dried dishes.

As he heard the last few notes of harmonica, Sam blew out a heavy breath and scrubbed a hand over his face, exhausted from three nearly sleepless days and nights of travel, from all the planning, from the months of worry and misery. As anxious as he was to get there, to see her, there was a part of him that was a little gun-shy, that still didn't quite believe it. It was the same part that had leapt into action every time they'd gotten a new lead on Weston, the same part that had been disappointed again and again. As sure as he was that he'd understood the clue, and as much as he wanted to be optimistic, to believe that things would work out, there was always a voice inside his head chanting, _"It's too easy."_

He shook his head and blinked his eyes a few times, trying to keep himself awake. Since he'd left the Edmonton city limits, he'd driven almost four hours, well over three hundred kilometers. Around him, the landscape had first risen up into hills and then into mountains. Evergreens lined the road and shadowed the secret pockets of crags and cliffs on the horizon. Any other time, he might get out and walk around for a bit, take in the sights, but he still had a good handful of hours to go before he stopped for the night, and even farther to drive the next day. He'd gain an hour with the time zone change, but the knowledge wasn't very comforting. His eyes flicked once towards the clock on the dash. Almost 7 PM. Somehow, through the worry and the stress, a smile worked its way through, starting small and growing wide until Sam ran a hand over his head and down the back of his neck, trying to stifle the excitement.

If all things went according to plan, if Andy's message was still in play, he'd be seeing her in a little over eighteen hours. At noon on Sunday.

* * *

><p><strong>Same day 9:55 PM (EST)<strong>

It was the mail that first tipped Weston off.

Over the past week, he'd been dividing his time between watching Swarek and the man he'd been talking to at the forensics building. Jose Ramos. It took very little detective work to figure out his name – he'd just followed him home. Weston watched Ramos enter a squat little four-plex with a wide, rickety porch and then he'd had gone up to the door himself and simply taken a look at the names printed on the mail boxes attached to the outside wall. One had no label, one had two women's names, the third was a Mildred Rasmussen, and the fourth simply said "Ramos." A single call to the forensics office from a pay phone, a transfer to voicemail, and he'd had it.

But watching him hadn't proven to be any more exciting or useful than watching his normal subject. The only difference had been a morning trip to day care to drop off his kid – a small dark-haired boy who looked to be around four years old.

And Swarek . . . . After that phone call he'd overheard, he'd been expecting something to change. A little deviation in his normal routine. But other than the visit with Ramos, nothing had changed. The man went to work and came back from work. He ran errands just like he always had. The bank, the post office, the store. He went for groceries on the weekend, and Tuesday morning his trash was in the can by the garage, like it was every week. It wasn't until this morning when he'd cruised by the police station, looking for the silver truck, that Weston realized that it had been days since he'd actually laid eyes on the man.

After watching him like a hawk for the last week (actually the last six months or so), he may have gotten a little lax in surveillance, a little bored with the lack of progress. Weston may have slept in once, nursing a hangover, instead of waiting for Swarek to leave for work. He'd long ago stopped doing double-takes at every brunette who walked past the house. He may have fallen asleep in his car, waiting for him to come home two nights before, but he could have sworn he'd seen a light on in the kitchen. Admittedly, he'd gotten lazy, because _nothing had changed_.

Until now.

Weston let the door to Swarek's house swing shut behind him and even then, a part of him _knew_. It was the end of June and temperatures were already pushing record-breaking highs. Every other time he'd been inside, the air conditioner had been running full force, keeping the inside comfortable. But not today.

Today, the heat inside was almost unbearable. Cloying and humid, it made his beard itch, made his shirt stick to his skin, and caused a droplet of sweat to escape from under the brim of his cap. He pulled it off and used the back of his arm to swipe at his forehead before settling it back onto his head. He plucked at his shirt front and let it billow away from his chest a few times, trying to cool his skin as he scanned the living room and moved across the floor carefully, looking for anything that might trip him up, anything that might be disturbed by his presence.

But it looked the same as always – neat to an almost pathological degree. This time, there was no stack of mail on the corner of the desk. He spun around slowly, looking for it.

The mail slot was set into the recess next to the storm door. There was a short pile of mail fanned out on the floor below it, maybe five or six letters, and a flyer for a nearby hardware store. It wasn't quite a red flag, but it was an irregularity, and combined with the smell, it put him on high alert.

The air was stale. Stuffy. Like there'd been no circulation – no windows or doors open, no fan running, no _air conditioner_. For days.

As Weston felt his heart pick up, he forgot about the need for quiet, for caution. He walked quickly down the hall to the bedroom and flung open the door. He was in front of the dresser in a second and one by one, he yanked open the drawers, swearing under his breath at the sight of each one. He didn't bother to close them before making his way out of the room and into the bathroom to check the medicine cabinet and the drawer in the vanity.

Leaving the second room, he didn't right the items that tipped over on the shelves or the corner of the mat that had flipped up when the door brushed against it. He didn't worry about the picture frame in the hall that he'd touched with his shoulder, sending it swinging askew on its nail. There was no one here to care.

Swarek's drawers had been all but cleaned out; his toothbrush and shaving kit were gone. One quick look into the kitchen confirmed it, though at that point it was more an afterthought than any real need for affirmation. The room was clean, almost bare. Dishes were put away, the fridge was empty of everything but condiments, two bottles of beer, and half a carton of milk three days past its expiration date. The trash held only a crumpled up sandwich wrapper and a few slices of pickle at the bottom of the plastic bag.

Swarek was supposed to lead Weston to McNally, and now, after months of observation, Weston had let him slip through his fingers. Because he was_ bored_.

As he stared down at the garbage, pouring over the last few days in his head, his surveillance from the last week, his pocket began to vibrate.

He pulled it out and then cursed again as he saw Allen's name across the screen. But instead of answering it, he silenced the phone and stuck it back into his pocket. Then he grabbed the last two bottles of beer from the refrigerator and sat down at the table to think.

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, July 1 8:37 AM (PST)<strong>

Sunday morning, Andy's alarm went off. She didn't jerk or fling out an arm, searching for her phone. She calmly hit the button, silencing it, and then cradled it against her chest, eyes focused on the ceiling above her bed. She'd been awake for almost an hour, waiting for time to pass, waiting for that moment to hit her. The one that had come every Sunday since she'd sent the picture to Sam. The instant where she sprung out of bed, unable to contain the impulse for a second longer.

It never came.

Instead, she blew out a long breath and rolled onto her side, taking the duvet with her. It left her back bare, save for a too-thin tank top, and she shivered as a whisper of cool air touched her skin. After a little readjustment, she buried her face in her pillow, feeling somewhat comforted at the thought of spending the day in bed. Despite her conversation with Rebecca the week before, she held almost no real belief that Sam would actually show. Somehow it was easier to deal with the disappointment that way, by keeping her expectations low. But it made it twice as hard to justify getting out of bed.

Brody wandered into the room and around the bed, until he stood right in front of her, chin resting on the top of her mattress. Andy made a face at him and flipped the corner of the blanket over his head, laughing a little when he bumped at it, finally getting his cold wet nose pressed up against her arm. With a quick intake of breath, she jerked away, flipped onto her back and let out a shriek as he bounded up onto the bed.

The mattress dipped under his weight and he stood over her and barked once, loudly, making her ears ring a little. When she didn't move, when she didn't throw off the covers and rise up from the bed to let him out, he did it again and again, letting his voice echo around the room.

Finally, Andy looked at him, eyebrow arched.

"Fine," she huffed, kicking off the covers. "It's early, you know," she complained as she snatched up her robe and slid both arms into it, letting the belt dangle down each side as she and Brody made their way through the house. She stopped in the dining room, in front of the table, and stared out the patio doors. Rain was coming down in sheets, pounding the ground into a sloppy green and brown mess. It rebounded off the deck, leaving miniscule puddles in the uneven grain and pits in the wood. Every fifteen seconds or so, a gust of wind would come up, making the branches sway, causing the leaves to shiver. She and Brody stepped closer to the glass, and as she leaned closer, looking up over the tree tops into the clouds, she curled her toes into the floor mat as a bolt of lightning slashed its way across the sky.

As a crack of thunder shook the house, Andy looked down at the dog. Brody was whining, the finest tremor running through his body at the loud noise, but he was pawing at the floor and the door jamb all the same.

"If you go out in that," Andy cautioned. "You're spending the day in the garage."

Brody looked up at her and gave one last sharp bark.

"You asked for it," she muttered, but kicked the wooden dowel out of the track and flipped the lock. When she slid the door back a couple of feet, Brody was off like a shot out into the rain, off the deck and into the cover of the forest in a matter of seconds. After a minute when he didn't return, Andy backed away from the door. She glanced over towards the kitchen, at the clock on the stove. Barely nine. There was absolutely no good reason for her to go back to bed, and every possible reason for her to get ready and leave. She had three hours until noon. Three hours to shower, dress and climb into her SUV and take the drive. She took a long deep breath, and after a moment's contemplation, walked back to the bedroom.

She snatched her towel off the back of the door and threw it over her shoulder as she once more made her way to the bathroom, preparing for yet another pointless trip to Shannon Falls. As she pulled the shower curtain closed behind her and stepped into the spray, she asked herself, like Stone, like her dad, and like Riley and Rebecca all had over the last six months: even if she tried to contact him a second time, or a third time . . . how long was she going to keep doing this to herself? How long she was going to wait?

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, July 1 : 12:06 PM (PST)<strong>

Sam pressed on the gas pedal, leaning down over the wheel to scan the sky ahead of him. The thick dark clouds that had clogged the morning sky were appearing to disperse as morning rolled into afternoon, and Sam's Taurus flew up the Sea to Sky Highway. Ten kilometers from the turn off to Shannon Falls and he was having issues with his heart. In fact, the entire morning had been one near-coronary after another.

He'd needed to drive the last five hours Sunday morning, but instead of getting on the road around six, he'd woken up around 7:30 AM in the parking lot of a rest stop, springing up in the backseat in a cold sweat at the sound of thunder rumbling overhead. It had taken him almost a full thirty seconds to figure out where the hell he was, what he was doing there, and another few foggy seconds to read the time on the front of his phone. He'd practically fallen out of the car – back, neck and hip stiff and sore as hell from curling up on the bench seat all night. He'd pulled his duffel from the rear hatch and covered the distance to the rest rooms at a quick trot. Once inside, Sam had used the facilities and checked out his haggard appearance in the mirror.

He hadn't had time for much, but he'd pulled off his shirt and splashed some water under his arms, on his face, and then combed his wet fingers through his hair. Then he'd used his tooth brush, deodorant and the hairbrush he'd had the foresight to stuff into his shaving kit. He'd have shaved, but the way his hands had been shaking and his heart had been pounding, he would have nicked his face in half a dozen places, minimum.

By the time Sam had exited the building, the rain was coming down cold and steady; it'd pelted his shoulders and stung his neck. When he'd finally sunk into the driver's seat and started up the engine, the water had run down his hair and down the neck of his shirt, causing it to stick just enough to be uncomfortable. But five minutes into the drive, he'd forgotten all about it.

He'd tried to cover up the clock on the dash, cramming a napkin into the recess so he would quit glancing at it every few seconds. That had worked for all of three minutes. Eventually he'd tossed the napkin onto the floor, as he leaned on the gas, trying to make up for the time he'd lost by sleeping in. The storm was following him to Vancouver, or rather, he was following it. The rain had finally broken just outside the city, but up ahead, he could see it coming down, drenching the road he still had yet to travel in one rapid swath.

The second brief onset of panic had come almost immediately after he'd entered Vancouver. Somewhere between the city limits and the turn off for 99, he'd misread a sign and ended up taking a wrong exit and had to pull into a parking lot to turn around. It'd only cost him about five minutes, but by that point, he was still more than ten minutes behind schedule. A steady stream of muttered curses had escaped his lips as he'd finally veered a little to the left, pulled onto the Sea to Sky highway. Finally, he was heading north towards the meeting place. The water to his left was steel gray and choppy, cut up by the wind and dark from the rain clouds moving out to sea. To his right was an endless blur of black and and green as he passed rock, pine, fir, and hemlock, all shaking droplets from leaves and needles.

Sam took a few deep breaths as he hit the turn signal and moved into the right lane, watching carefully for the turn-off. For a while, he'd been watching the signs go by; massive brown reminders that "Shannon Falls Provincial Park" was just ahead. But it was already ten after twelve, and he wasn't exactly sure how long Andy would wait. He wasn't even sure she'd be there. Who knew how long that package had been sitting on Sarah's desk, waiting to be opened, waiting to be forwarded. Who knew how far she had to travel, how many times she'd make the drive, and how many trips she'd already made. And who knew when she'd finally give up waiting for him altogether.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw and then around to the back of his neck to rub at the strained muscles, still rock hard and feeling twisted from sleeping crooked. It did nothing to ease his nervousness, did nothing to soothe the pounding of his heart. And when he finally pulled into the parking lot, it only got worse.

Though it was miserably wet and there was a slight chill to the summer air, there were buses and cars were crammed in to the parking lot, wedged in tightly next to each other. He had to cruise up and down the lot, waiting until a couple pulled their Jeep out of a narrow opening on the end. Within a minute, he'd angled the Taurus into the spot and had leapt from the driver's seat, barely remembering to snag the keys and give the door a push on his way towards the path.

As Sam strode onto the path and under the canopy of trees, he barely took in the scenery around him. He caught two signs; one was about pets, while the other appeared to be a very basic "you are here" map with a bald eagle stretched across the top. He didn't spare a second glance towards the tiny little cabin off to his left; a gift shop complete with "Welcome" sign, tourist T-shirts, and a postcard rack out on the narrow porch.

Then, a little ways past the building, he saw what he was looking for. Direction. He stared at a third sign for a few seconds, reading the words once and then again before they registered. There were three choices. One was for the Chief Trail and had a picture of hikers next to it. Reasonably sure that wasn't the way he was headed, Sam concentrated on the other two. Both said "Viewpoint Trail" and had arrows pointing in opposite directions. He didn't have time to stand there and play guessing games, so he made a choice, and went down the path that appeared to be the busiest.

The next few minutes passed in a blur. Afterwards, he would remember passively taking in a stream rushing over rocks, flowing parallel to the trail, and numerous shorn off stumps; physical memories of the logging park that (according to the website) had been Shannon Falls' previous incarnation.

When the sound of rushing water grew to a dull roar, he picked up the pace, breaking into a jog at the sight of the falls through the trees. He cut around families making their way up the trail with strollers and dogs, brushed by a couple of preteen girls walking slowly behind their parents, and then, took that first step up onto the platform and stopped.

It was midafternoon and there were people everywhere, umbrellas held under their arms, tourists with shiny slickers and rain ponchos opened up at the throat as the sun popped out from behind the clouds. Kids crowded the giant, flat boulder in the center of the platform, ignoring their parents' pleas to behave. A troop of Girl Guides were crowded off to one side, gathered around their troop leader and a female volunteer who was pointing out the various kinds of vegetation just beyond the viewpoint. Sam's eyes traveled the perimeter of the area, searching for a familiar build. And finally, as one tall grade-schooler was yanked down off the rock by an angry mother, he saw her and his heart stopped.

She was against the far railing, her back to him, leaned over the banister as she faced out towards the waterfall. Her hair was crammed up into a ball cap, a sloppy bit of ponytail shoved through the opening in the back, and she was dressed simply in denim shorts that hung a little loose at her hips and a faded navy hoodie, dark at the shoulders and wet from the rain. As he drew closer, as he moved around the boulder, he saw that the ball cap settled firmly atop her head was damp as well.

Sam stopped short, just a few feet behind her and exhaled, his eyes falling closed for a second, then two as he tried to get control of the feelings running through him. Relief, for sure, and also a weird, unfamiliar calm. Like finally, things were clicking into place, and all the worry and loneliness and heartache had all been building to this point; to this second when they could finally be together again. An almost undeniable possessiveness rose up inside him, and he felt a very strong, very real desire to snatch her up, get his hands in her hair and his mouth against hers so hard it almost hurt.

But instead, though it almost pained him to do so, Sam moved slowly. He held his breath as he took a couple of steps up to the railing and leaned against it, feeling it sag very slightly under his weight. And then he turned to look at Andy, standing less than a foot away.

Close enough to touch.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading everyone! We're just getting to the good stuff ;)<strong>


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